












































































I 


« 


N 






POLLY 











POLLY 

Being a Fairy-tale of Love, in which it is shown that 
men love not so much the Reality, the Sub- 
stance, as they do their own Ideals 


By 

GEORGE VAN DERVEER MORRIS 

Author of “A Man for a’ Ttiat” 


What outward form and feature are 
He guesseth but in part. 

But what within is good and fair 
He seeth with the heart f 

—COLERIDGE. 


New York and Washington 
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 21 1906 

Copyr'urht Entry 
CLASS ou- XXc., No. 

/U 3 7 rr 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1906, by 

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 


TO MY WIFE, 

SWEETHEART, FRIEND, companion 
the satisfying substance 

OF MY 

boyhood’s fondest dream 

















. 







CONTENTS 


Pags 

I. Dillon Judson. . ., n 

II. The Tug of War, . . 17 

III. The Break of Day, . . 26 

IV. The Trials of an Author, 40 

V. Polly, 49 

VI. The Rest of the Family, ........ . 61 

VII. One Year in the Country, 69 

VIII. Back to the City, 80 

IX. Dark Days, 91 

X. Judson and Polly, 96 

XI. Marie Harman, 105 

XII. The Cruise of The Spray , 113 

XIII. Marie Harman as Angel, 131 

XIV. Dream, 145 

XV. The “Mean Man’s” Plot, 155 

XVI. Judson and the Baby, 163 

XVII. That Dream Again, 170 

XVIII. An Anticlimax, 177 

XIX. Donald’s Return, 186 

XX. Judson’s Recital, 193 

XXI. Donald’s Experiences, 204 

XXII. Harrison Harman and Dillon Jud- 

son, 222 

XXIII. The Gambler’s Fate, 231 

XXIV. Three Years, 241 

XXV. Aunt Hettie, 248 

XXVI. A True Love Story, 260 

XXVII. Judson’s Social Peculiarities, 280 


8 


POLLY 


Page: 

XXVIII. Bon Voyage, ........ ...... . . . . 291 

XXIX. Arthur Hamline, 301 

XXX. Judson Needs a Vacation, 310 

XXXI. Rigi Culm, 322 

XXXII. At Last, 329 


INTRODUCTORY 


The story of “Polly” is not history, but there 
is more of substance and less of dream in it than 
the careless reader might suspect. The truth out- 
weighs the fiction. Some of the things most diffi- 
cult to believe are founded on history, biography, 
truth, while the simple versimilitude of the con- 
nectives is fiction. If a writer wishes to be believed, 
he invents, and his critics say, “How true to na- 
ture!” If the truth fills his soul and he permits it 
to control his pen, they often say, “What a vivid 
imagination!” The writer must needs tone down 
the truth that his story may be credible ; the painter 
dare not copy nature exactly, or the critics will call 
him mad. There are sunsets so gorgeous, so lavish 
in their colorings, that if any artist dared reproduce 
them, he would be called a dreamer, or worse. 
Truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and God, in 
the great story of life enacted every day on every 
hand, is beyond the most gifted imagination. 


i 


POLLY 

CHAPTER I 

DIIyl/DN JUDSON 

Dillon Judson was in the city to make a name 
for himself as a writer and, incidentally, a living. 
He was a country boy; one of the vast army that 
marches every year upon the great centers of popu- 
lation, taking them by storm. The little inland 
town which had been home to him from his infancy 
had not prepared him in many lines for the metropo- 
lis of which he was now a part, for it was proverbi- 
ally slow and “sleepy.” With the force of this 
kind of environment wrought into the fiber of his 
being he must learn how to adapt himself to that 
heaving restlessness which is called “life” in the 
great city. He had not come to his new home en- 
tirely without preparation, however, for he held the 
diploma of the local high school, being an eminent 
illustration of the law of the survival of the fittest, 
since he was the only one of the original class of 
fifteen who was able or willing to fight his way 
through. On that account he never felt particu- 
larly puffed up because he was valedictorian of the 
class. Later, he entered and in due course gradu- 
ated from one of the smaller colleges with which the 
United States is plentifully supplied; colleges with 
little endowment, inadequate and often dilapidated 
buildings, meager equipment, underpaid faculty, a 


12 


POLLY 


handful of students ; colleges severely criticised on 
every hand by many who claim they have no raison 
d’etre , but, which, in spite of every drawback and 
limitation, in spite of adverse criticism, have made 
their mark most grandly upon the character of the 
nation. These institutions are sought by certain 
classes of young men because tuition and living are 
cheap, not because they desire special courses in 
baseball and football, to say nothing of extraordi- 
nary advantages in the electives of general athletics 
and polite society. Judson was one of the class of 
students who study because they mean business. 
They are the lineal descendants of the men who once 
gained an education without the advantages of 
schools, by dint of hard work and midnight oil. 

As a college graduate Judson had been looked up 
to at home as “a bright and shining light.” He 
must needs sing in the choir, usher the chance 
stranger to his pew, assist in taking the “offering.” 
In church or society Dillon Judson was considered a 
necessity, though, strangely enough, as far as he 
understood what it meant, he cared little for society, 
not because of anything that simulated pride but 
because of a peculiar diffidence that developed 
strangely as he grew older. 

Judson’s ambition from the beginning, vague at 
first, had been literature. The local “weekly” 
accepted greedily everything he offered, from a 
poem to a story. If the paper had needed a re- 
porter he would have been the man, for any local 
“write-up” of merit was certain to have come from 
his pen, though the editor of The Weekly Beacon 


DILLON JUDSON 


13 


was not able to remunerate his scribe, was barely 
able to remunerate himself. 

Thus he accustomed himself to print, and there, 
in the dingy little office, was born the ambition to 
reach a little higher and endeavor to grasp some of 
the prizes the world was supposed to hold just 
beyond the ambition of the common throng. It 
was there, after a particularly brilliant effort had 
brought showers of encomiums upon him, that he 
suddenly conceived the notion of contributing a 
short story to a magazine. He was fairly startled 
by the boldness of the idea but went to work with 
energy and not a little of a certain dashing kind of 
ability, and finally produced a story which he enti- 
tled “The Bridal Party,” forwarding it at once to 
The Brimstone , a cheap monthly publication of 
short stories circulating widely in his home region. 
Perhaps The Brimstone was fourth or fifth rate, 
judged by certain standards, and yet it was first rate 
in the opinion of many young writers ; for it had no 
scruples against publishing the productions of an 
“unknown’’ and it seldom had upon its pages the 
name of a celebrity. Its avowed purpose was that 
everything appearing between its covers should be 
readable by the great indiscriminate public. Stories 
offered were expected to be exciting, out of the 
ordinary, and entertaining from beginning to end. 
Judson’s effort met the approval of the literary staff, 
and in a month the young writer was surprised and 
pleased beyond measure to receive a check for the 
munificent sum of twenty dollars. His delight 
knew no bounds, he walked on air, breathed the 


14 


POLLY 


rarefied atmosphere of the summits, and fed upon 
the sweets of assured success. He was dazzled by 
the glorious visions of the future that passed before 
his astonished eyes. The one thing remaining for 
him now was the city, with the fortune and fame 
that certainly awaited him there. 

That acceptance would have been fatal to many 
young aspirants for literary honors. It would have 
puffed them up, given them false notions of their 
ability, and left them unprepared for disappoint- 
ments that would certainly follow. This “Returned 
with thanks,” or “Unavailable,” or “Crowded,” is 
a part of their training, if it is hard to bear; it 
scatters the mists and clouds and permits a truer 
vision; it brings them down from the altitudes of 
the imagination to the dust of the earth where even 
authors must live and work, in spite of that some- 
thing within them that seems to be drawing them 
to the skies. If the young author can stand the 
strain, without yielding to discouragement, retain- 
ing all the time the proper amount of self-confi- 
dence, the crown at last may rest upon his brow. 

Judson was alone in the world, his nearest rela- 
tive being a widowed aunt with whom he made his 
home ; a modest income was available, sufficient for 
the simple life of the community in which he lived, 
but entirely inadequate for anything like a normal 
existence in the great city. But his mind was made 
up as to that, and no one but his aunt sought to 
dissuade him from his purpose, and her efforts were 
mainly on account of pre-visions of her own lone- 
someness and loss of income. All his friends and 


DILLON JUDSON 


15 


neighbors believed in him and persuaded him to go. 
It was a pity for him to hide himself in the desert ! 
He must be like the city on a hill which cannot be 
hid! He must represent his old home out in the 
world and reflect honor upon it ! The current 
Brimstone was bought and eagerly read by nearly 
every family. A brilliant future was predicted for 
him. He was viewed with wonder, almost awe, by 
many of the younger generation. 

“Think of it!” said a boy. “Dil. Judson went up 
to his room the other night and made a few 
scratches on some paper as fast as ever he could, 
and sent if off. First he knew twenty dollars came 
sailing back to him as slick as you please. That ’s 
the way to get rich! But I ’ll tell you, fellows, it 
takes brains, and Dil. Judson ’s got ’em all right 
enough ! He ’ll make his mark in the world. You 
hear me !” 

This was the inadequate preparation of the man 
who was in the city to make a name for himself and, 
incidentally, a living. He was there without 
knowledge of the world of men, with little or no 
special equipment for the great work that was in his 
mind, without even that bravado that often stands 
a man in such good stead that he is able to face 
down the world and make it come his way; but he 
did have a heart that was clean, a mind that was 
untrammeled and without the doubtful furnishing 
that many a young fellow obtains from the kind of 
literature which has been forced upon him, and his 
ideals were the loftiest. Thus equipped, he cut the 
moorings and drifted out upon the great sea of life. 


16 


POLLY 


With faith in himself, simple and childlike; with 
faith in humanity, without cynicism or limit; with 
faith in the Eternal, that all would be well — with 
all sails set he entered the new and unknown port. 


CHAPTER II 


THS TUG OR WAR 

But the city was not what it promised to be. No 
mirage, no fata morgana is ever more deceptive to 
the traveler on the desert or the voyager on the sea 
than the great city as viewed from a distance by the 
unsophisticated country boy. It is a mighty ocean, 
with currents and undercurrents, with ebbing and 
flowing and spring tides, with sunshine and calm 
and devastating storms, with spring and summer, 
autumn and winter — not in regular succession and 
for certain definite periods, but changing, coming, 
going, all in a single day, sometimes in a single hour, 
and whatever the season and whatever the weather, 
a constant heaving to and fro of restlessness. It is 
a maelstrom, with its winding circles far out in the 
country, drawing into its terrible vortex the young, 
the old, the poor, the rich, the girls, the boys, and 
sucking them down, many of them forever. 

After Judson’s arrival in the city his difficulties 
began. In the first place, he had trouble in finding 
an abiding place. At home, three dollars a week 
had provided the best board in the market, while at 
college the same amount had carried the student in 
the “commons” twice as far. But in the city the 
private hotels and boarding-houses to which the 
young author had been directed demanded ten, 
fifteen, and twenty dollars a week, and some of them 


18 


POLLY 


even more than that. He spent his first night at a 
hotel, paying one dollar for his room, without 
meals — a ruinous rate! Early the next morning, 
obtaining the “tip” from a policeman, he went 
below an imaginary line drawn across the city from 
east to west, and at last found a temporary resting 
place in a fourth-story back hall-bedroom of a great 
brick house, for which he was to pay six dollars a 
week. That was still beyond his slender means for 
a regular expenditure, but he could make it the base 
for present operations. 

Judson had brought with him several short-story 
manuscripts and he dedicated his new home to the 
cause of literature by preparing these for immediate 
shipment. Then he went out into the crowded 
lonesome city to offer himself somewhere for some 
kind of literary position, he hardly knew what. 
His ideas were somewhat vague as yet, but he had 
a feeling that he was equal to it whatever it might 
be. Returning to his gloomy room at night, with- 
out even the faint shadow of a future success cast- 
ing itself on the pathway of his weary feet as a 
promised “coming event,” he sat down on the side 
of his hard lumpy bed to think. He was disap- 
pointed, he could not pretend that he was not. It 
may be easy to fool all the world all the time in this 
matter but one can not fool one’s self. He was 
disappointed; for somehow he had thought of the 
city as holding out its literary arms to welcome him, 
when instead he had only received from it, so to 
speak, the cold shoulder. But in spite of certain 
disappointment, discouragement had found no flaw 


THE TUG OF WAK 


19 


in his defensive garments and had not been able to 
effect an entrance to his heart. To one thing he 
was definitely committed, position or no position, he 
was going to write! For a while he would con- 
tinue to spend his mornings looking for something, 
but his afternoons and evenings, his best seasons for 
composition, were to be held sacred to the pen. He 
would continue to write short stories and he would 
begin to write a novel. He knew he could write a 
novel, he felt it in him and he was eager to begin. 
The plot had already taken hold of him and was 
constantly beckoning to him to follow where she 
would lead, for in his sleep it came to him as if per- 
sonified and possessed with enchanting powers. 
With a light heart and fresh courage he prepared 
for bed that night and slept as only a country boy 
with a good conscience, tired to death with the city 
streets, can sleep. 

He adhered faithfully to his purpose; the morn- 
ings found him on the street in the vain search for 
something to do in literary lines, the afternoons and 
evenings found him busy with his pen or a type- 
writer, which he had secured for a song from an old 
clergyman at home, who vowed he was glad to get 
rid of it, for he had never been able to accustom 
himself to the “newfangled” thing. His manu- 
scripts came home persistently like homing pigeons, 
weary of the world and eager for their nests. He 
was constantly tempted to give it all up and return, 
but a dogged determination to win, and a feeling 
that he had it “in him,” kept him at it. 

The novel grew apace and the young author 


20 


POLLY 


became tremendously interested in it. It was real 
to him: he saw it, felt it, it was a part of his own 
life, more real, in fact, than his outside humdrum 
existence. He often went to bed weary with the 
factitious life he had been living. 

Six months passed. Long since had he ceased to 
bother the publishing-houses. None of his short 
stories in all that time had been accepted save a 
little sketch which The Brimstone had taken for ten 
dollars. The Brimstone did not often take more 
than a second story from a writer, lest he should 
become too well and favorably known and, in con- 
sequence, demand a larger reward than it was able 
or willing to pay. 

At the end of the first three months the young 
countryman had been forced to curtail his expenses, 
hence he began the search for cheaper quarters. 
At length he found just what he wanted on the 
corner of Blacksly and Morrow streets — a little 
room with a single bed, a chair, a writing-table, a 
washstand-bureau, space along the wall for his 
trunk, a row of hooks for his modest wardrobe, 
with just enough room in the center for a careful 
promenade when his brain action needed stimulat- 
ing. For these accommodations he was to pay two 
dollars a week with the special privilege of boarding 
himself, which he did at little cost — some weeks not 
spending more than a dollar, as incredible as that 
may seem to those who have never been confronted 
by the necessity. The house itself was not a bad 
one, for Morrow street was respectable enough, 
though mostly given over to business. The build- 


THE TUG OP WAR 


21 


in g was of brick and very large, the first two floors 
being wholly occupied by a merchant. The re- 
mainder of the house was cut up into tiny rooms, 
most of which served as bachelor apartments for 
men of moderate means or in straitened circum- 
stances. But Blacksly street was different. The city 
could produce nothing worse. Yet Judson had not 
lived long on the street before he became intensely in- 
terested in it and many of its inhabitants. He soon 
began to make it a part of his daily program to walk 
from one end of it to the other. It presented a 
novel aspect of life to this rustic boy and he became 
eager to understand it and to translate it for the 
benefit of others. His face became familiar to the 
dirty children on the curbstone and to many of their 
elders, and he ceased to attract attention. After 
a time he began to cultivate the acquaintance of 
some of these little ones, cautiously and by degrees, 
for children of the present day are suspicious, and 
especially those of the streets, until before many 
weeks he was a favorite with some and was at least 
tolerated as an ordinary member of the community 
by the others. He gained this position partly by 
the use of a natural gift of tact, which more than 
half a year in this portion of the city unconsciously 
brought out; and partly by a constant display of 
absolute fearlessness, that was likewise natural. 
He soon learned the great lesson that the broad 
avenue to a parent’s heart is by way of the heart of 
the child, and that this is as true in the slums as on 
the boulevards of the wealthy. In this line he 
thought that he had made a great discovery, that a 


22 


POLLY 


peppermint stick or a few tiny lozenges will often 
break down the barriers that make it difficult to 
reach the citadel of the suspicious child. Hence he 
formed the candy habit and it stood him in good 
stead, though many of the children forgot the candy 
when they learned to know better the dispenser. 

The residents of Blacksly street were not only 
poor in the abject sense, but many of them were 
degraded as well by vice and crime, and their atti- 
tude toward the great outside world was nothing 
less than ugly. To many of them, any man who 
could dress well belonged to the hated class of capi- 
talists — an indefinite term, including all who were 
in comfortable circumstances and in any way satis- 
fied with the existing order. A man wearing good 
clothing might expect insult in that street at any 
time of day, and it was considered unsafe for out- 
siders after dark. Murders had been committed 
here and thefts and hold-ups without number. Yet 
there was no place in the whole city that fascinated 
Judson like this street. Perhaps its absolute nov- 
elty had something to do with this. It was different 
from any picture his country-trained imagination 
had been able to paint. He could not break away 
from this magnet long at a time. Of course, he 
must visit the parks and gardens and noted places of 
interest, but many of the best of them were com- 
monplace to him, for his artistic imagination had 
gone far beyond them and a single visit to the most 
exalted of them often sufficed. He sometimes 
promenaded the avenues and boulevards along with 
the worldly throng but he preferred his “home 


THE TUG OF WAR- 


23 


street,” as he was wont to think of it. It held him 
as no other part of the city was able to hold him. 

The face of the young man with the plain but 
clean clothes became so familiar that he was soon 
recognized as a resident of the street and curiosity 
concerning him vanished. As he looked back upon 
those early months in the great city he considered no 
experience more fortunate, and helpful to his after 
career, than the accident of his proximity to Blacksly 
street. 

All this has been dealing with the unconscious 
preparation of the country boy for work that 
awaited the one who was ready. A short chapter 
from his earlier life will throw a little light on the 
results of his after career. He had found up in the 
attic, while yet a mere boy, among the musty col- 
lections of the past, some dusty old books. He was 
moved to read them indiscriminately from Fox’s 
Book of Martyrs to Peter Parley’s History of the 
World, with some in between not so good — with 
yellow backs and paper covers — but everything is 
grist to that mill. But it happened that much of 
the evil and questionable was not understood and 
soon forgotten while some of the good remained. 
The false fires enkindled by the “yellowbacks” went 
out, but a few sparks of the good remained smol- 
dering till a passing gust of wind fanned them into a 
flame. Then the attic collection was read again; 
tribute was laid upon the parlor table variety, 
bought because of their beautiful bindings in blue 
and gold ; access was gained to the village teacher’s 
meager shelf, to the busy doctor’s miscellaneous 


24 


POLLY 


array, and last and best of all to another library — 
the minister’s. The country parson having learned 
that one “in their midst” had a thirst for knowledge 
beyond that supplied by the county weekly and the 
almanac, and having come across this extraordinary 
individual one day on the pike not far from the 
village, threw his arms about him and whispered 
words of inspiration in his ear, and finally offered 
him the use of his library. The boy walked home 
with head erect and joy in his heart. He had heard 
of some of the world’s great libraries but the hope of 
entering one had never dawned upon him, but it 
seemed that a fairy had opened one to him as he 
stood before the eight or ten rows of well-selected 
books. 

Will the country parson ever receive his due? 
Will some bard with the “divine afflatus” ever 
pause long enough to sing his praises? He is a 
man from the common ranks of his fellows, just an 
ordinary man, but one who sees and understands 
life, who knows its goal, who loves his fellows; a 
man who has forgotten self, who has buried selfish 
ambition, and who lives for his brother; a simple 
man, criticised and misunderstood, often driven from 
place to place like a greater One who went before 
him, who shakes the dust from his feet without 
rancor and journeys to the next place with hope; 
who believes in the salvation of the body and mind 
as well as of the spirit ; who will watch by the bed- 
side of the dying, carry in the widow’s fuel, fan the 
tiny spark of the mind’s awakening, as well as 
preach and live the unsearchable riches of a spiritual 


THE TUG OP WAR 


25 


and heavenly Gospel. O country parson, God sees 
and knows thy work, and on the great day when 
the hidden comes to light, many of earth’s great and 
lofty ones will arise and call thee blessed! They 
will point thee out as earth’s greatest discoverer — 
not islands, -or continents, or suns, not the pole, nor 
germs nor mighty theories, but men! finding them 
in their hiding-places, kept down by heredity and 
environment and the vis inertia of the generations, 
calling to them gently, lovingly, tactfully, some- 
times with the voice of the thunders, never growing 
weary, never becoming discouraged, with infinite 
patience teaching to fly, and at last, standing amid 
the throng who are wishing farewell to the ones tak- 
ing their final flight, well content that the world is 
the richer, little thinking of the forgotten and unex- 
pressed gratitude, little knowing that to him has 
God imputed the honor and that to him will the 
reward be given openly. 

Dillon Judson has reached his commencement 
day in life’s school and does not know it. In the 
innocence of ignorance he goes forth but strong in 
faith — faith in himself, faith in humanity, faith in 
God! 


CHAPTER HI 


THR BRRAK OR DAY 

One evening, after a long conversation with one 
of the most violent men on Blacksly street, Judson 
repaired to his room under control of an inspira- 
tion. Sitting down before his typewriter he let his 
thoughts guide his fingers as he had never per- 
mitted them before. He had always written 
through the medium of notes and sketches. Then 
his first copy had always been considered by him as 
nothing more than “a rough draft” that had to be 
gone over again and again, polished and repolished, 
till little of the original thought remained. The 
style of this new production differed materially 
from his ordinary style, which had always been 
marred by a certain stiffness that resulted from the 
self-consciousness from which he had never been 
able to free himself. For the first time in his life 
he had written with confidence and it appeared like 
the writing of another man. He was rather startled 
by what he had written; he did not know what it 
was, nor what to name it, nor why he had written it. 
After mature deliberation he prefixed the title “Mr. 
O’Eeary Speaks.” This new style that appeared 
now for the first time was somewhat the result of 
fine instinct, moulded and trained by the habit of 
reading every day the best journals published. He 
had caught the idea and swing without knowing it. 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


27 


“Mr. O’Leary Speaks” was not an interview nor an 
ordinary write-up. The Mr. O’Leary was rather a 
composite photograph of the members of a class. 
He was a type. Finnigan, the unconscious and 
innocent cause of the article, might easily have read 
it without suspecting that he had been its inspira- 
tion. . 

After it was finished, Judson read it over 
critically but with little interest. It was now “done 
for” and ready for burial along with scores of other 
productions that were awaiting a resurrection at 
some future Judgment day when the hidden would 
come to light. There were a few verbal changes to 
be made, one or two omissions to be supplied, and a 
misspelled word or two to be corrected, the letters 
of which had become twisted, as they sometimes will 
on the best-regulated machines. After this me- 
chanical work, feeling that his duty was done, he 
was about to file his article away and retire for the 
night, satisfied that he had met all the requirements 
of the situation, when a knock was heard on the 
door and a little hunchback neighbor walked in and 
solemnly seated himself on the only chair, leaving 
Judson the choice of the bed or the trunk. Seeing 
the manuscript on the table, neatly typewritten, ap- 
parently ready for a journey out into the world, he 
inquired, 

“What have you got there?” 

“Oh, nothing much. Only a little thing that I 
just hammered out.” 

“Let ’s hear it.” ... 


28 


POLLY 


Judson had more than once read his productions 
to the little fellow and had found him an ardent 
admirer of his work as well as a wise and helpful 
critic, so he had no hesitation in reading to him his 
latest effort. After the reading, a moment’s silence, 
and then, 

“What are you going to do with it ?” 

“Oh, I do n’t know. Put it away with all the 
rest, I suppose.” 

“That ’s newspaper work. Send it at once to 
The Daily Panorama .” Without another word the 
dwarf arose and departed as slowly and as solemnly 
as he had entered. 

Judson sat immovable for a while, then turning to 
his table he directed a large envelope to The Daily 
Panorama. Still faithless and afraid of his own 
name he affixed the nom de plume “Max Murphy” 
to the article because it happened to come into his 
mind. After a few more seconds at the machine, 
he enclosed in the same envelope with his production 
the following note : 

“ Editor Daily Panorama. 

“Dear Sir: I submit to you the enclosed and 
offer it for publication in The Panorama for what it 
is worth. Yours truly , 

“Dillon Judson.” 

Having deposited his packet in the post-box on 
the corner below, Judson climbed back to his room 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


29 


and retired, laughing at himself the while for what 
he believed to be his foolishness. He had com- 
pletely overcome, by this time, the tendency to dis- 
couragement, though nothing but his own dogged- 
ness kept him at his profitless work. None but a 
strong man could have gone through it, for not a 
dollar had come in since the remuneration for the 
second article in The Brimstone. Nevertheless, he 
was now free from all worry, because he was living 
within his income. 

In the mean time, his love for Blacksly street had 
broadened and extended, in a measure, to the whole 
city, as if it had been a living personality. Thus 
far, during his residence here, he had formed no 
companionships at all ; though he was on speaking 
terms with a vast number of acquaintances. When 
he became weary or lonesome, a walk out into the 
ever-new city satisfied him. Hence, it came about 
that he began to know the city as few old inhabitants 
knew it. He ran some risks in his tours of investi- 
gation down into the slums. He had been “held 
up” on two occasions, but as he always made it a 
point, while on these tours, to carry neither money 
nor valuables, in one instance the would-be robber 
apologized for the mistake he had made, while the 
highwayman of the second attack generously 
offered to divide his own “pile” with this less fortu- 
nate brother, for that seemed to be the philosophy 
of his business, “divide!” On another occasion, 
down along the wharves, a great bully rushed out 
on him when there was no opportunity to run, and 


30 


POLLY 


was so persistent that the youths tongue was not 
able to extricate him from the situation as it had 
done from many another. Fight was all that was 
wanted in this case, but a single blow from the 
countryman’s fist fully met all the requirements of 
the case. The ruffian was stretched out and some 
time elapsed before he saw daylight. 

Judson formed the habit of writing out all these 
experiences in full as soon as he reached his room. 
He kept a big book for this purpose, with plain 
manila pages. He wrote with the idea of pre- 
serving vividly these interesting chapters of his life, 
but also for the sake of his style. Hence he wrote 
with great care, but since it was not for publication, 
without the self-consciousness that ever had been 
his bane. He scarcely understood what it all meant 
for him, however, for he was following an instinct 
that was strong within him ; but the truth was that 
he was training himself for his life work, he was 
completing his education in this marvelous school 
in which he himself was head-master. Further, in 
days of plenty, he was filling vast store-houses with 
facts, thoughts, and opinions, for the days of pos- 
sible famine in the future, when it might become 
necessary to deal out constantly, with little or no 
opportunity to replenish. Some of these facts 
stored away were more wonderful than the fiction 
that even his active imagination was able to forge. 

The next day but one after “Mr. O’Leary 
Speaks” had been mailed, Judson received the fol- 
lowing note, with enclosure : 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


31 


“Mr. Dillon Judson, 

“Room 34 Hudnut Bldg., 

“City. 

“Dear Sir: Find enclosed check for fifty dollars 
($50.00) for ‘Mr. O'Leary Speaks .’ More of same 
kind as soon as possible, 

“Yours truly, 

“Wm. P. Stryker, 
“Managing Editor, Panorama .” 

Judson had to pinch himself to be assured that he 
was not dreaming. Being fully convinced that he 
was awake and that the check was genuine, he sat 
down again, under a nervous strain that simulated 
the physical condition under which the former article 
had been written, and produced “Mr. O’Leary 
Speaks Again.” It was nearly twice the length of 
the former article, which caused the young writer to 
fear for it, but it abounded in wit and humor and 
was one of the raciest and most readable articles 
that had been produced in the city in many a day. 

O’Leary was a frequent topic of conversation on 
the streets and in the offices after the appearance of 
the first article, but after the second the name was 
on every one’s tongue. “Who is he?” was the 
question asked but never answered, for the author 
was shrouded in mystery. A new star of the first 
magnitude had suddenly appeared in the zenith. 
Was it a sun or merely a flashing meteor illumina- 
ting the heavens for a moment, only to leave them 
the blacker after its disappearance? The astute 


32 


POLLY 


managing editor had purposely omitted the nom de 
plume “Murphy,” believing that O’Leary was good 
enough for all purposes. It did not seem wise to 
divide the honors. Little did the young writer know 
that the name that had come to him as a sudden in- 
spiration would be forced upon him as his nom de 
plume for all time to come. But so it was. There 
was a time in his life when O’Leary seemed more 
natural to him than his own name. 

The Panorama had made the hit of the season 
and quotations from O’Leary were the order of the 
day. Can he keep the pace ? was the thought in the 
mind of many that found expression in different 
forms of interrogation. 

Judson was too unsophisticated to think of taking 
his manuscript directly to the newspaper office, or, 
if the suggestion had entered his mind, he was too 
timid to be willing to appear in the august presence 
of the managing editor of The Panorama. For 
this reason a day was lost. His article appeared 
the morning following, and the afternoon of the 
same day he received a letter of which this is a 
copy: 

“Mr. Dillon Judson , 

“Room 34 Hudnut Bldg., City. 

“Dear Sir: Enclosed please find order for fifty 
dollars ($50.00), payable at The Panorama office 
after the first of the month, for ‘ Mr . O'Leary 
Speaks Again.' More! Deliver in person by six 
o'clock to-night, if possible; if not , endeavor to 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


33 


get it in by nine. If for any reason you are unable 
to gratify this request kindly call me up. 

“Yours, 

“Wm. P. Stryker.” 

No one will call the young man weak because the 
tears rolled down his cheeks as he read the letter, 
nor because he was convulsed with feeling a little 
later, when the realization of the situation came 
upon him like a mighty billow. He said afterward 
that it seemed to him as if all the dammed up 
bitterness, disappointment, and discouragement of 
the past months had broken loose at once and over- 
whelmed him, sweeping away like barriers of straw 
all of the resolution and fortitude that his manly 
nature had been able to erect. For one-half hour 
he was a little child again and longed for his mother 
and the sympathy he knew she would have given 
him. For the first time a sense of his own lone- 
someness came over him and terrified him. Here- 
tofore he had been sufficient unto himself, and the 
great city had been his wife and companion and 
friend. Gradually he regained his self-possession 
and manfully began to rebuild his shattered de- 
fenses, which had been able to resist the forces of 
adversity and disappointment but which had proven 
all too weak for the sudden force of unexpected 
success. It was fully five o’clock before he was 
calm enough to write. But the experience had 
created in him that nervous state under the influence 
of which, when naturally produced, he always 
3 


34 


POLLY 


wrote his best. It was about eight o’clock, how- 
ever, when he started out with “O’Leary on Monop- 
olists.” As he entered the great Panorama build- 
ing he felt as nervous as a timid girl compelled to 
appear in public for the first time, and did not know 
which way to turn. Being directed to the editorial 
rooms he found himself in a large place full of 
men seated at desks, most of whom were busily 
engaged in writing, as if their lives depended upon 
it. He noted one exception to the general rule of 
hurry and rush ; one young man was leaning back 
in his chair, stretching and yawning as if he had 
nothing to do but go home and find the repose he 
apparently needed. This idle man was the only 
person whom the young writer felt that he dared 
approach and to him he timidly said, 

“I have an article for to-morrow morning’s issue 
of The Panorama.” 

“Is that so?” queried young Schnedaker, in no 
very pleasant tone of voice. “Are you right certain 
that it is for to-morrow’s issue? Would n’t next 
day do as well ? It is easy to fool one’s self in that 
regard. Every day matter is crowded out that has 
cost us hundreds of dollars to collect.” 

“You do n’t mean it!” gasped Judson, while that 
strange timidity which he had felt on entering re- 
turned to him with redoubled force, and the cold 
perspiration broke out all over him. 

“Yes,” said the reporter, swelling under a magni- 
fied sense of his own importance, “you ’d be aston- 
ished to see the men who come in here feeling cer- 
tain that they have something that must go in at 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


35 


once. I might say that ninety-nine out of every 
hundred of them go away disappointed. Of course, 
if it ’s a matter of genuine news, that ’s different. 
The Panorama wants the news and pays for it 
gladly, and if it ’s a scoop, munificently. Is yours 
news ?” 

“I am very much afraid that it is not.” 

“What is it, then, if I may presume to ask ?” 

“I do n’t know exactly what you would call it. 
It ’s sort of an imaginary something, but — ” 

“Well, I can prophesy that you ’ll be turned down. 
The Panorama is n’t accustomed to taking ‘imagi- 
nary somethings’; you can put that in your pipe 
and smoke it for a while, and perhaps you will 
change your mind before you present it, and thank 
me in the bargain.” 

“But—” 

“Yes, I know, yours is different; but they all 
are, still — ” 

Just then a boy burst into the room through a 
glass door and called out as he ran, “Mr. Watson, 
Mr. Stryker wants to know if you ’ve heard any- 
thing of an O’Leary article he ’s waiting anxiously 
for ? He says he ’s holding up the whole paper for 
it.” 

“Not a word,” was the response from a busy 
young man who occupied a high stool near the door. 

“Here it is,” said Judson, as he pushed the packet 
into the hand of the boy, as that important member 
of the staff brushed past him. The latter gave him 
one look as he took the manuscript, as much as to 


36 


POLLY 


say, “So you are the man, are you? I do n’t think 
you are much!” 

“For Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Schnedaker. 
“Are you the O’Leary man? Why, it ’s the greatest 
thing the paper has gotten hold of for ten years. 
Everybody is talking O’Leary all over town. Say ! 
I ’ve been playing the fool with you, and you played 
your part like a star. Somehow or other I took you 
for one of those jays from the country who think 
that all they ’ve got to do is to come in with some 
little thing ‘they ’ve dashed off’ and their fame and 
fortune ’s made. It ’s one of the few joys of my sor- 
rowful existence to take them down when I get the 
chance. But I beg your pardon, Mr. ?” 

“O’Leary” — yielding to the temptation to joke 
with the smart young man. 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. O’Leary; and it ’s my 
treat if you do n’t tell Stryker nor any of the boys 
what an everlasting fool I ’ve been making of my- 
self. Besides, it might cost me my job. Stryker 
would say that I was too fresh and had n’t learned 
to mind my own business, and all that sort of rot.” 

“That ’s all right. No harm done, I ’m sure; 
but — ” At that moment a head appeared in the 
opening of the glass door, a head that was a stand- 
ing invitation for a comb, and Stryker’s voice called 
out in sharp rasping tones, “Mr. Schnedaker, as- 
signment! Big fire, 49th street,” and Schnedaker 
was through the glass door in a moment. But 
while Judson was passing out of the building he 
heard the young reporter rushing by him and he 
paused to \yatch him swing himself onto the rear 


THE BREAK OF DAY 


37 


platform cf an electric car, and he felt himself 
tingle with a desire to follow him. 

The next afternoon Judson received another 
gratifying order. The following is an extract from 
the accompanying letter : 

“I understand that you called last night. I was 
on the point of sending for you when my mind was 
diverted by the news of a big fire. After I had made 
the assignment you had gone. We want all of 
O'Leary we can get as long as he is up to par. Let 
me know if you can have more by Saturday evening. 
Have instructed office boy to bring you into my of- 
fice at once ” 

\ 

“O’Leary Talks Politics” was the next subject — 
written rapidly. Judson was afraid he might be on 
dangerous ground, but he knew his subject so per- 
fectly and the article sparkled so constantly with 
wit that there was little danger. 

As the O’Leary man entered the editorial rooms 
that Saturday night he found the office boy await- 
ing him, ready to conduct him into the presence of 
the managing editor. Stryker gave him one search- 
ing glance, then said, 

“Mr. Judson, I am glad to see you. I would like 
to make a contract with you for your output of 
O’Leary. There will be imitations but we desire to 
retain the original solely for The Panorama and are 
willing to pay for the right.” 

“I shall be glad to enter into negotiations with 
you,” — losing all of his nervousness, now that he 


38 


POLLY 


was in the actual presence, — “the more willingly if 
it is to be regular. I prefer a definite arrangement.” 

“Yes, Mr. Judson. That is one reason I sent for 
you. How are you employed at present ?” 

“I am simply an independent writer.” 

“Have you never done newspaper work before?” 

“Never.” 

“That is strange. Your work seems like that of 
the most seasoned newspaper man. Where do you 
get your material?” 

Judson proceeded to tell him of his life in the 
slums, of his special study of Blacksly street and its 
types, and of his complete and systematic study of 
the city, particularly of its out-of-the-way nooks and 
crannies, but taking care not to refer to his disap- 
pointments and poverty. 

Stryker was impressed with what he said concern- 
ing the city, and his study and expert knowledge of 
its most important and interesting parts from the 
news-gatherer’s view, and offered him a trial posi- 
tion on his staff, but drawing up a special contract 
with him for an O’Leary paper every week, at a 
handsome space rate, which alone would give him a 
comfortable income. 

The managing editor found his new reporter to 
be more efficient that he had dared to hope. Of 
course, there was much the latter needed to learn 
concerning the ways of newspapers and the little 
tricks of the pen that a reporter must know ; but his 
instinct and tact stood him in good stead always, 
and he was quick to catch an idea. His specialty 
was slum work, but besides this and the O’Leary 


THE BREAK OE DAY 


39 


papers, he produced some of the most notable 
“feature” articles of the season. He ferreted out 
items of interest that the ordinary man let slip. The 
sad face of a little girl on the street was the means 
of starting him on the trail of something that finally 
made interesting reading. The furtive look in the 
eye of the passing tramp brought forth a story that 
stirred the city. 

One Blacksly street little girl was the subject of 
several sketches in his ponderous journal and now 
“Polly” began to appear in print until, in a way, 
she was nearly as famous as O’Leary himself. 
“Polly” became a household word and “A Polly 
Paper” was hailed with delight by the children. 

Judson rapidly developed a love for his work that 
made it a delight. It seemed the thing for which he 
had been led to the city. As experience broadened 
and deepened satisfaction increased. But his love 
for literary work for its own sake kept his mind on 
higher things and filled him with loftier aspirations. 


CHAPTER IV 


the: triads of an author. 

Not long after this comfortable arrangement had 
been made with The Panorama, the novel was com- 
pleted and ready for its journey out in the world of 
publishing houses. The selection of a name proved 
to be the greatest difficulty and at last, in pure des- 
peration, it went off as “Stop ! Look ! Listen !”■ — a 
title that received no end of criticism. 

In a week’s time the manuscript returned accom- 
panied with the following letter : 

“Mr. Dillon Judson: 

“W e return herewith the MS. with which you re- 
cently favored us. Our readers were much pleased 
with it hut could not, on the whole, recommend it 
for publication. As our business is to make money 
on books published and as yours did not promise to 
be a money-maker, we return it regretfully. Thank- 
ing you for the great favor conferred upon our 
house, we remain 

“Respectfully, 

“Donaldson & Griggs.” 

The manuscript was not in his hands fifteen min- 
utes before it was started in another direction. 

Judson knew little about publishing books and 
had taken no one into his counsel, hence he had not 
been fortunate in his selection. He learned by sad 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


41 


experience that there is as much difference between 
publishing houses as there is between department 
stores. The house of Donaldson & Griggs did not 
stand well, a fact which came to him in a novel man- 
ner. An assignment of delicacy and importance 
took him to this house a few days later. A letter 
from Stryker presented him as Mr. O’Leary of The 
Panorama — that name being used by the managing 
editor as an open sesame to the flinty heart of Mr. 
Griggs, the present senior member of the firm. Mr. 
Griggs did not conceal his delight at meeting the 
mythical O’Leary and, after the business in hand 
was completed, became communicative and confi- 
dential. After some pleasant conversation, moved 
by a spirit of curiosity, Judson inquired, 

“Are you much troubled with manuscripts, Mr. 
Griggs?” 

“Troubled is no name for it at times. During 
certain seasons we are literally overwhelmed with 
them.” 

“I presume that it is well-nigh impossible to treat 
them all alike. Of course, if it is an old name, you 
know what to do ; but I rather imagine that instinct 
helps you out when it comes to a new one. You can 
almost tell intuitively what to do with it. Is it not 
so ?” 

“You hit the nail on the head again, Mr. O’Leary. 
Yes, it is intuition, that ’s just it. Why, it costs 
money to have experts read these documents, and 
when a lot of trash comes in, from somebody we 
do n’t know who, that ’s the best we can do — sort 
them over and give them out accordingly. Now, 


42 


POLLY 


for instance, a couple of weeks ago, just as I was 
about to go home, a special messenger arrived with 
a manuscript. I was tempted to leave it on the desk 
till the morrow but finally decided to do something 
unusual ; as the chances were against it anyhow, the 
sooner disposed of the better. So I opened it, and 
sure enough the name was entirely new and the title 
was some fool thing like ‘Look Out for the Loco- 
motive !’ ” Judson gave a visible start and felt the 
color mounting to his face as he recognized his own 
story. A desire to get out of it somehow was strong 
in him, but there was no way of escape. “No, Mr. 
O’Leary, I am not betraying a trust ; I do not won- 
der you start, that was not the title. Turning to 
Miss Pollock, my stenographer, I said, ‘Miss Pol- 
lock, you are fond of reading I believe. How would 
you like to read a story for me for pay?’ ‘That 
would be perfectly splendid,’ she said, ‘but how can it 
be possible?’ ‘Take this manuscript home,’ I said, 
‘and read it carefully. Bring me a written report as 
soon as you have finished.’ She understood at once. 
She is an unusually bright girl. ‘Won’t that be glor- 
ious?’ she cried. ‘Only think of it, I shall be a 
reader! My loftiest ambitions never lured me that 
high.’ The while I chuckled to myself at the money 
saved, and started home in quite an elevated frame 
of mind.” 

“Very astute, Mr. Griggs. You interest me. 
May I inquire concerning this young lady’s report, 
since you have concealed the name of the author 
and the true title as well ? Did she disappoint you ?” 

“Not she. She returned one morning two or 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


43 


three days later with the manuscript under her arm, 
and after an hour’s hard work produced a report 
that amounted to this : The book was the ‘funniest’ 
she had ever read, entirely too slow at times, and 
fairly keeping ahead of the lightning at others.” 

“A sententious report. She must indeed be a 
bright girl.” 

“By the way, Mr. O’Leary, if you were ever 
tempted to write a book and would honor us with 
the manuscript, I assure you that it would receive 
different treatment. Perhaps the thought has not 
occurred to you, but a book by the author of The 
O’Leary Papers would be certain to have a phenom- 
enal sale.” 

“I have a feeling that approximates a certainty 
that anything I might present would not be deemed 
of sufficient merit to pass inspection.” 

“Tut, tut, Mr. O’Leary, that kind of modesty and 
self-distrust is not the thing that commands success 
in any line.” 

Some coincidences are so remarkable that when 
told or placed in cold type they seem like fiction. It 
was a coincidence of this sort, a few evenings later, 
that assigned Judson to report a ball, something en- 
tirely out of his line, in place of a lady reporter into 
whose hands all such functions, not in high society, 
were placed, but who was detained at home that 
night on account of illness in her family. When it 
was discovered somehow that the fine-looking, quiet 
man was a reporter he immediately became the cen- 
ter of attraction. He was presented to many merry 


44 


POLLY 


young girls who were eager to have some notice 
taken of them. But among all the names he was 
compelled to murmur that night only one remained 
in his memory. 

“Permit me to present you to Miss Pollock. Miss 
Pollock, Mr. O’Leary, the celebrated Panorama 
man.” 

Miss Pollock was delighted, for she knew that her 
new canary gown was absolutely irresistible, to say 
nothing of herself, and she fondly hoped that both 
might get into print, that being one of the things 
worth while to this young woman. Besides, she 
had worked hard and long to procure that gown and 
it surely deserved public recognition. Judson re- 
peated the name Pollock over and over again, won- 
dering where he had recently heard it, while the 
young lady managed in a perfectly artful artless 
way to put her hand on his arm and permit him to 
lead her away from the throng. He never did dis- 
cover exactly how she managed it, but at the time it 
seemed natural enough for he thought he was doing 
it. Suddenly his mind was illuminated. 

“I wonder if you are related to a Miss Pollock 
who is one of the literary staff of the publishing 
house of Donaldson & Griggs?” 

The young woman fairly bubbled over with de- 
light. She had never been so excited and happy in 
her life. “Why, Mr. O’Leary, I am she; only, 
alas ! I can not lay claim to that lofty title. I am 
Mr. Griggs’s stenographer, simply this and nothing 
more, except that he did give me a manuscript to 
read for him some time ago, which I took to be a 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


45 


high compliment indeed, and he has promised me 
more.” 

“Certainly it was a compliment. Did the book 
happen to be one you would naturally have chosen 
to read if it had been on the market?” 

“Not much ! I thought it would be great fun at 
first. I am fond of reading, and I had visions of a 
delightful book with the added delight of pay for 
reading it. I could scarcely wait.” 

“You must have been sadly disappointed, then.” 

“Well, yes. You see it was this way. I did not 
have my own choice of manuscripts. If I could 
have had one of those pretty books that our firm 
publishes by Patricia Fortesque or Francesca Hol- 
lingsworth, it would have been different. But the 
book I had was so funny. My! It was so much 
like life that I am sure that no one would ever want 
to read it.” 

“So you are of the opinion that books ought not 
to be too much like real life?” 

“I should think not! We get plenty of that every 
day. Books ought to be full of riches and pleasure, 
and all that, with a few villains thrown in now and 
then, of course, to make things exciting; but they 
should always be thwarted in the end, just in time, 
and ‘they’ should finally get married and live 
happily ever after. Oh, I think I could write a book 
if I only had time and patience, I know just how it 
ought to go.” 

“Why not make the effort. Miss Pollock?” 

“Oh, Mr. O’Leary, I surely will have to try it, 
now that you suggest it. But why do not you 


46 


POLLY 


write one yourself, Mr. O’Leary? It would be sure 
to be good and I know that it would have a phenom- 
enal sale. Indeed, you must try it.” 

“I did try it once, but the publishers sent it back.” 

“Was n’t that mean of them! Send it to our 
house next time and maybe Mr. Griggs will let me 
read it, then I know it will be published.” , 

Judson groaned within himself. After all of 
those months of toil and sweat, had that been the 
fate of his manuscript — the tender mercies of that 
silly girl, with little knowledge and no experience, 
with a taste for the frothiest of the modern cheap 
novels ? 

And yet the young typewriter girl must not be 
misjudged. She was a fair representative of a class 
of girls which our large cities produce in great 
numbers. She was not bad in the least, but most 
certainly frivolous. She was compelled to earn her 
living and she had a queer fancy that she had earned 
at the same time the privilege of enjoying herself 
whenever she found opportunity, and in the way 
that best pleased her. She had good family con- 
nections that gave her entree into the society of the 
great middle class, which is often healthier than the 
loftier circles, if not so well advertised. When 
Judson led her back to her friends she felt that “she 
had had the time of her life,” as she expressed it. 
She had no use for dancing that night, and the 
young men of her set began to wonder if she were 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


47 


proud. She expressed her own feelings to a crowd 
of girls in the cloak-room, 

“You can say what you please, girls, he \s just 
the nicest fellow that ever lived. Why, he talked 
for an hour or more ( ?) ; and think of it, he 
honored me with what I call a genuine literary con- 
versation, just the same as he is used to all the 
time — what do you think of that? He just talked 
sense to me and I enjoyed it a heap sight better than 
the horrid stuff some of our fellows talk. Ugh! 
How I hate it.” 

Judson was O’Leary that night by the merest ac- 
cident. In the first place they called him O’Leary 
at the office, then he was frequently sent out thus. 
Besides, as he was entering the hall, a companion 
with whom he had been walking called out, “Good 
night, O’Leary !” So when he spoke to the usher at 
the door it was perfectly natural for him to murmur 
“O’Leary,” and to that accident he owed the knowl- 
edge that had come to him in regard to his precious 
manuscript. If he had been presented to Miss 
Pollock as Mr. Dillon Judson, undoubtedly that 
bright young woman would have remembered the 
name and set a watch upon her lips. 

Judson laughed to himself good-naturedly on his 
way back to the office, for he felt that he had 
material for something good. Not that he felt re- 
sentment toward the young “reader,” but rather 
toward a house that would handle any manuscript 
as his had been handled. Far better advertise that 
henceforth they would receive the work of known 
writers only. The more he thought of it the more 


48 


POLLY 


incensed he became. When he finally reached his 
desk and took the evening’s work into review he 
felt ashamed of himself for drawing out Miss Pol- 
lock as he had. The more he pondered it the more 
convinced he was that he had not been fair to her. 
It almost seemed to him that he had been eaves- 
dropping. He did the best he could to shrive him- 
self, however, and Miss Pollock was perfectly bliss- 
ful next morning to find her canary gown in the 
paper. She had food for dreams for many a night 
to follow, and she never learned that the man 
who had charmed her by his “literary conversa- 
tion” was the author of the book she had read in 
manuscript with so much of disappointment that 
she had been compelled to report adversely upon it. 

At the end of the month the manuscript came 
home again. This time the reply was more hopeful, 
for it had gone to a minor publishing house and 
the head of the firm had honored it by reading it 
himself ; and as he dictated the reply he must have 
felt communicative, for he announced that he con- 
sidered the book worthy of publication, but owing 
to the glut in the book market, and the obscurity of 
the author, he felt compelled to return the manu- 
script with thanks, though with deep regret. 

With perfect confidence in his work and with a 
feeling of determination that he would keep it up 
as long as life lasted or another publishing house 
existed, as fast as his manuscript returned he sent 
it out again. In several instances it was speedily 
returned, once or twice it remained a month or 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


49 


more. Some of the accompanying letters were 
worthy of note. One letter was frank in the ex- 
treme; but its only criticism was upon the name, 
which, it said, was sufficient to kill any book. An- 
other sent the stereotyped printed form indicating 
that “because a manuscript was returned was no 
reason that it did not possess merit and was un- 
worthy of publication. There were always other 
reasons, etc.” Another said laconically that “it was 
not in their line.” The following is an extract from 
another: “The plot is so entirely different from 
anything ever published that we fear the public will 
not receive it kindly.” Another house, after retain- 
ing the manuscript so long that the author began 
to indulge in dreams, sent this comment: “The 
world is book-weary and we have accepted manu- 
scripts on hand sufficient for a whole year’s out- 
put.” 

At last Judson sat down and reread the story in 
order to satisfy himself that it was worthy. His 
opinion was not changed though he began to mis- 
trust his own judgment. In spite of his former re- 
solve, a sense of disgust took possession of him 
nearly sufficient to counteract it. He was tempted 
to give it up and satisfy himself with his daily 
work, in which he was succeeding beyond his fond- 
est hopes. Why not let well enough alone? 

In spite of the austerity of the managing editor, 
in spite of his aloofness, in spite of all the traditions 
of his position, there was growing up between him 
and the new reporter a fast friendship. It never 
4 


50 


POLLY 


appeared during hours, when he was strict enough. 
Some of the reporters called him “The Old Man” 
and some “The Old Grizzly,” but those who knew 
him away from the office and apart from business 
hours found him different. The jealousy that 
always exists, more or less, between the stars on a 
staff made it impossible for friendship to manifest 
itself between the chief and any of his subordinates. 
However, the kind that was ripening between 
Stryker and Judson did not need many words, it 
was deeper than that: the kind that now and then 
exists between strong men, the kind that weaves 
itself into the fibers of the being and seems to be- 
come a part of life itself, the kind that has nothing 
of gush, little outward expression — the still waters 
of the trustful soul. The only time these two 
ever got together alone was in a little uptown 
restaurant where they sometimes met by appoint- 
ment apart from all the rest. They were eating 
together in silence the night of this last return of 
Judson’s manuscript when a sudden inspiration 
came to him : 

“Stryker, I ’ve a notion to tell you something!” 

“What is it, Jud?” 

“It ’s just this: I have written a novel and nine 
publishing houses have returned it with regrets.” 

“Only nine? How fortunate! Is it any ac- 
count ?” 

“That is an embarrassing question. It is mine 
and in my best style, but it is out of the old ruts and 
they seem to be afraid of it.” Then he gave a 
synopsis of some of his replies. 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


51 


“Have you employed any influence ?” 

“Any what ? I fear I do not understand you.” 

“Any influence; have you had some authority 
read it and commend it ?” 

“Not much! If it can not stand on its own 
merits I certainly shall not consent to have it 
propped up.” 

“No, no, of course not! You do not understand 
me, old fellow. This age in which we live is re- 
markable. Competition is between the most excel- 
lent only, in things literary. In old times it was one 
mountain peak, snow-capped, inaccessible, rising 
majestic from the plain of the commonplace. Then 
there was little difficulty, for all could see that it 
towered above everything else in the surrounding 
country. Now it is different. While the peaks may 
be less lofty there are in their places whole mountain 
ranges of towering peaks so nearly equal that it is 
exceedingly difficult to note the difference. Pub- 
lishers become nervous. A light and flippant work 
will be rejected by one only to be put forth by an- 
other with a prodigious sale up in six figures, while 
a truly meritorious work will be accepted and pub- 
lished only to fall flat. The reading public of the 
present day, that is buying up these vast editions, is 
not the old reliable reading public, but a new one, I 
might say, a ‘promoted’ one, one that heretofore has 
read little or nothing. Now it is surprised at itself 
and takes itself seriously and thinks that it is truly 
literary because it has read the latest fad and is 
willing to pass judgment thereon. In fact, this 
public is like a flock of sheep, it accepts strange 


52 


POLLY 


leaders and goes where no prophet can foretell. 
Hence you can see the difficulty of the publishers. 
Now, let me disabuse your mind. I did not mean 
that any amount of influence could help you if your 
work was mediocre, if you are not of the modern 
mountain range, to come back to our figure. But if 
you are one of these summits, this influence acts as 
a telescope, not to enlarge the mountain, but to 
bring it closer that the publisher may see more 
clearly the beauty and the glory of it. Let a man of 
recognized literary merit read and express himself ; 
if it be favorably, you have a right to the benefit of 
his opinion. It may not prepossess the publisher in 
your favor, but it will command from him the best 
possible attention. There are a few good companies 
that make this their business — to read, criticise, and 
place manuscripts from unknown authors. Please 
understand, when I spoke of influence I did not 
mean anything false ; for there is no such thing as 
a ‘pull’ with publishers.” 

“Yes, I think I see your point; but I suppose I 
am a crank.” 

After several minutes of meditation on the part 
of both, Stryker at length brightened up and said, 

“I have it! The next time you send out your 
manuscript put it in the name of the author of the 
‘O’Leary Papers.’ ” 

“Not a bad idea; but my whim is to have the 
story published solely upon its own merits, not on 
my name or any one’s else!” 

Another silence. 

“Do me a favor,” Stryker at length insisted. 


THE TRIALS OF AN AUTHOR 


53 


“Do what some well-known authors have recently 
done. Send out several copies of your manuscript 
to different publishers. Inform them of your pur- 
pose to sell to the highest bidder. Let all but one 
go in your own name as heretofore, but add the 
magic of the name O’Leary to the last.” 

“Well, I do n’t mind that as a study — yes, I ’ll 
do it.” 

Then between them they made a list of houses. 
Stryker’s broader experience was of inestimable 
value. Heretofore the young author had not always 
chosen well. Indeed, Stryker laughed heartily when 
he heard the list of places to which his manuscript 
had gone. One or two were given to publishing the 
lightest kind of fiction only, one made a specialty of 
religious novels, another gave emphasis to collateral 
reading in standard literature for colleges and high 
schools, and some did not stand well in their busi- 
ness relationships. Stryker insisted that the author 
has as good a right to select the publisher to whom 
he will submit his writings, as the publisher has to 
select from the writings submitted to him the ones 
he is willing to publish. 

Acting under this advice, Judson had four extra 
copies of his manuscript prepared, and these he sent 
out — four, by Dillon Judson simply, but the last 
one, in a fit of mischief, went out bearing this 
legend, “By the Author of the O’Leary Papers.” 
Judson changed the title and carried it in person to 
Mr. Griggs, of Donaldson and Griggs. That gen- 
tleman received him graciously. 

“I have come with that manuscript, Mr. Griggs, 


54 


POLLY 


taking you at your own word. I shall expect you 
to give it as much care as if it were by an old and 
successful writer . 55 

Mr. Griggs was delighted, committed the 
precious document to the best readers in the house, 
and in two weeks 5 time communicated with the 
author the willingness of the house to publish, and 
submitting a substantial offer. Mr. Griggs knew 
that other houses were reading the manuscript and 
was eager to get ahead of them, for he felt certain 
that the name O’Leary would make it a seller. 
When Judson read the letter of acceptance he 
laughed aloud at what he considered the best of 
jokes. 

One other house gave a favorable response be- 
cause the work was adjudged worthy. The book 
was accepted on its own merits, much to the satis- 
faction of the writer. It was a relief to know that 
there was one publisher at least who was not afraid 
of a new name or a new plot, if he had a work of 
true merit; for after all there would be no great 
names in modern literature if some publisher at 
some time had not accepted and put forth the work 
of an unknown. Judson breathed a sigh of relief 
when this heavy burden was removed from his 
mind. He felt at that moment as if he would never 
undertake another book, as most writers feel at 
times. But there is a fascination that is irresistible 
and most of them come back to it, often to the dis- 
tress of the great long-suffering public. 


CHAPTER V 


POIyX/Y 

Her name was not Polly at all. Soon after her 
birth she had been christened Miranda Jean. The 
evolution of this little lady’s name is worthy of 
note, not simply because it is a new chapter under 
the general subject of nicknames, but because, as 
well, Miss Polly is an important character, and her 
antecedents must be known in order better to 
understand and appreciate her. 

She was simply “Baby” at first, as is many an- 
other, and after the weeks of colic and kindred in- 
fant ailments, she was a sweet baby indeed, and as 
her nurse in the white cap trundled her up and 
down the hard paths of the park she was compelled 
frequently to pause that her little charge might be 
admired. 

After a while the family moved and then, for 
some unaccountable reason, “Baby” became “Jean” 
to her many friends. Some as they beheld the latent 
beauty of the little thing prefixed “bonny,” and 
sometimes they sang to her, 

“Jean, my bonny Jean, 

Come to your laddie once again.” 

But this stage of existence was soon passed, for 
another move was made, and the family found 
themselves still farther down town on the wrong 
side. When the household effects were transported 


56 


POLLY 


one thing must have been left behind — the little 
one’s name ; for, though it was still recorded in the 
big family Bible “Miranda Jean,” the new neigh- 
bors persistently insisted on calling her plain 
“Mirandy,” and they persisted so successfully that 
soon she was Mirandy to everybody. 

The family remained long enough in this place 
for Mirandy to grow up into a round blue-eyed 
ball of a thing of seven years, with a smile for all 
and a low, soft voice, and a winsome ensemble that 
compelled people to stop on the street to look at her, 
even when her face was dirty and her garments 
soiled, as they often must be at her age and in that 
part of the town, and when mama is too busy with 
work and worry to look after her little ones as she 
should; and that made a passing artist request the 
privilege of painting her picture, as he intended, in 
dirt and calico. Next day, when she was ushered 
into the studio, all clean and clothed in a dainty 
lawn dress, the distinguished painter was about to 
dismiss her with the remark, “Surely this is not 
the little girl I expected,” when closer scrutiny re- 
vealed to him that rare face, for rare it was, dirty 
or clean, and he painted that face and — was famous. 

But the wheel of fortune revolved once again 
and as a result, for one delicious while, the home of 
the little girl was in the country, with its broad 
fields, its green grass, its marvels of woodland, and 
its expanse of sky. She had never before dreamed 
that there was so much sky in the world, for the 
most she ever remembered seeing at one time had 
been from the narrow limits of Central Park. Here 


POLLY 


57 


she studied botany and zoology and ornithology 
and entomology and many other “oligies,” all in 
her own way and without books and teachers — ex- 
cept Dame Nature herself. She formed a personal 
acquaintance with the garden flowers and many of 
the wild ones too ; she knew their individuality and 
many of their pretty ways. She called them by 
tender love names, she kissed and caressed them and 
whispered sweet things into their dainty ears, but 
never could she be induced to pluck them. She 
loved the domestic animals and fowls and wild 
squirrels and rabbits that she frequently saw, and 
with whom she would have been glad to make 
friends if they would have permitted it. She knew 
the birds both by sight and song. The trees were 
especially dear to her. They were like great human 
beings, and she called them giants and imagined all 
sorts of stories in connection with their past. In- 
deed, she cultivated the faculty of imagination to 
such an extent that she was in a dreamy state most 
of the time during this period, and often, as she sat 
under the big elm tree, she would be startled from 
her reverie by a voice calling, 

“M’randy! JVF randy Jane!” 

Just one brief year was spent in the country, then 
back to the city, and this time the worst had come 
to the worst — the top story of a rickety, dirty 
tenement house, up under the roof, cold in winter 
and insufferably hot in summer. She missed her 
many friends of the country sadly, and the wild 
filthy children around her did not attract her, but 
she did not yield to sorrow. Instead, by her bright- 


58 


POLLY 


ness and joyousness, she became the comfort and 
stay of her bereaved and saddened mother. 

On the day of her return to the city, while stand- 
ing guard in the great station over various boxes, 
bags, bundles, she had been startled beyond measure 
by the college “yell” of a lot of young men gathered 
outside of the waiting-room door. The sharp stac- 
cato notes, coming from so many masculine throats, 
had been almost sufficient to cause her to desert her 
post as watchman. The moment she discovered 
whence the noise came she was fascinated and could 
not turn her eyes away, and when at length the boys 
began to sing college songs, her fear turned to joy 
straightway, and she clapped her tiny hands in 
ecstasy. Among the many snatches they sang was 
one with this refrain, 

“Singing polly wolly woodle all the day.” 

She did not know what it meant but she caught it, 
or rather it caught her. The melody got tangled in 
the mazy convolutions of her active brain. She 
dreamed about it in the night; she awoke in the 
morning, singing the refrain ; she kept it up all day 
long, over and over again, 

“Singing polly wolly woodle all the day.” 

Was it any wonder that the inhabitants of the house 
got to calling her “Polly” ? And was it any wonder 
that it became the easiest thing in the world for the 
members of her own family circle, who had no 
prejudices against pet names, to fall into line and 
call her likewise “Polly” ? 


POLLY 


59 


So it happened that every place in which the little 
lady lived wrought changes in her name, from 
simple, impersonal, characterless “Baby,” to refined, 
specialized, individualized “Polly/’ and though the 
last was not hers by any right, she loved it most and 
it fitted her the best. 

There are some who still persist in saying that 
there is nothing in a name. They repeat that a rose 
by any other name would be as sweet. They insist 
that certain noxious weeds would be no less noxious 
if the most aesthetic names were applied to them; 
that romantic little Miss Wilde Rose was just as 
sweet and romantic after her marriage with Dr. 
Bull, in spite of the suggestiveness of the new com- 
bination. Nevertheless, many thinking, observing 
persons are certain that there is something in a 
name ; that some names seem to fit, while others do 
not ; that some seem to be as natural as the features 
of the face while others, often unaccountably, are 
manifestly foreign to and apart from the nature of 
the individual. There is room for the scientific 
psychologist who will thoroughly investigate and 
then write with authority upon the subject, “The 
Psychology of Names.” Every one knew that the 
name “Polly” fitted perfectly the little girl to whom 
it had been applied in such a novel manner. 

Polly is an important personage in this narrative. 
She is a little girl to whom God has given a dispo- 
sition full of sunshine and cheer, for which little 
credit is due her. At the same time she is one who 
finds the problems of life rather difficult to solve, yet 
who takes them up one at a time and does her best 


60 


POLLY 


to make them clear. She belongs to that anomalous 
class the members of which are said to be “old for 
their years,” hence she was often misunderstood and 
misjudged by those who did not know these secrets 
of her disposition and character. 


CHAPTER VI 


the: rest or the: family 

After consuming a whole chapter's worth of 
paper in introducing Polly one might naturally sup- 
pose that it would require a book to present the 
remainder of the family, especially when it was dis- 
covered how numerous that family was. But one 
chapter will suffice, for, after all, in many lights 
Polly is the most important member of the firm. 

As first presented, there are three boys and two 
girls, besides Polly ; for the little lady of whom we 
have caught but a glimpse was the last baby to bless 
the McLean home. For years Donald McDonald 
McLean had been wealthy and had lived up town in 
a mansion, with many servants, and all that heart 
might wish. He was by birth and nature a “canny 
Scot." He had been a broker, but for several years 
had been leading a retired life. He was a quiet 
man, with a reputation, in consequence, for wisdom 
and righteousness, which a glimpse into his heart, 
even in those happy days, might have shown to be 
ill-founded, as will be seen. 

Martha Allison McLean was the wife and 
mother; sweet, modest, dainty, and, in the days of 
their prosperity, happy from year’s end to year’s 
end. With her husband by her side and her children 
around her, she wondered what heaven could hold 
in store that could bring her greater bliss — not that 
she was irreligious, bpt that her happiness was so 


62 


POLLY 


complete that her finite mind could not visualize 
anything better. She was a devout member of the 
Church, with firm faith in God — and she needed 
it all. 

Donald McDonald McLean, Junior, was the 
eldest son, a sturdy, quiet fellow, in many things a 
second edition of his father. Just two years 
younger was James, the restless, nervous boy, who, 
while he was yet a baby, nearly turned his nurse’s 
hair gray by his persistent determination to jump 
out of her arms, and nearly made her bald by his 
efforts to pull her hair out by the roots. 

About two years after James came little Martha, 
the first girl, her mother’s namesake ; but, alas ! by 
some freak of nature, with her father’s features. 
Donald McDonald McLean was called a handsome 
man in his best days; he was massive, with large 
heavy features, none of which, alone, could have 
been called handsome, but which, together, on a 
well-dressed, well-built man, produced a distin- 
guished and perhaps handsome whole — at least as 
long as cleanliness and dressiness were maintained. 
But those same features, even though reduced in 
size, on a little girl did not produce for her a just 
claim to beauty. Poor child ! she could not help it, 
and yet as long as she lived she seemed to be bur- 
dened and discouraged by her face. 

Another two years and two new faces were pre- 
sented at the same time to the family circle by the 
nurse, and it was soon understood that their owners 
were Alexander Allison and Harriette, respectively. 


THE REST OF THE FAMILY 


63 


They were as near alike in face and temperament as 
the proverbial peas in a pod. 

Owing- to delays in the train service from baby- 
land, Miranda Jean did not arrive for four whole 
years; but when she came it was to stay, and stay 
she did in every heart where her blessed ways 
gained never so grudging an entrance. 

Miranda Jean was about two years old when the 
family approached the summit of the toboggan-slide 
in their worldly affairs; the twins were six; 
Martha, eight; James, ten; and Donald McDon- 
ald, twelve. The sudden descent came about 
naturally enough, though neither the father nor 
mother nor children understood why at the time. 

The truth was that Donald McDonald McLean 
was a gambler at heart. He made all his vast 
wealth in speculation — legitimate or otherwise. He 
commenced his business career when little more 
than a boy with a dollar in his pocket. This he in- 
vested largely in peanuts, buying them, by his per- 
sistence and native wit, at the lowest wholesale rate. 
The remainder of his capital went into cheap paper 
bags, and the peanuts into the bags. 

He followed a circus procession, and hung around 
the outside limits of the great show and cried, 
“Here ’s your fresh-roasted, double-jointed, Cali- 
fornia peanuts ; as long as a rail and as thick as an 
elephant’s foot; a prize in every one; make you 
laugh all over your face and half way down your 
back; just the thing to feed the monkeys and — your 
sweethearts, bless them!” 

Before evening he had three dollars in his pocket 


64 


POLLY 


in cold cash. The next day his capital had increased 
to seven dollars, and at the close of the third day 
he had fifteen dollars in his bank — the toe of an old 
stocking, hidden in the lining of his vest and pinned 
fast from the inside with a safety pin. 

He had already evolved from the peanut business 
into the next higher stage of existence, the nature 
of which he was entirely in ignorance of at first. 
But his wings were evidently sprouting the next 
day when he happened to pass a sign which read, 

“nineteenth century introduction company 
AGENTS wanted! 

EASY, RAPID, AND ROYAL ROAD TO FORTUNE.” 

That was the very thing above all others he was 
after, so he entered without hesitation and immedi- 
ately engaged himself in conversation with the gen- 
tleman in charge, who soon discovered that he was 
dealing with a young man inexperienced but with 
business instinct so strong and keen that it could be 
relied upon as a safe guide. When the young finan- 
cier understood the meaning of “Introduction Com- 
pany’ ? he began to take a lively interest in the novel- 
ties for agents displayed in the cases. He was will- 
ing to enter into this kind of work but nothing 
would induce him to take a book, of which there 
were great numbers, put up in gaudy bindings with 
fancy titles to catch the eye of the inexperienced; 
nor did he want anything that would not sell itself. 
After looking over the whole display he selected a 


THE REST OF THE FAMILY 


65 


dainty little kitchen utensil that would readily sell 
for a quarter and that the average housewife would 
want on sight, for which he paid eight and a third 
cents by the dozen rate, including the small discount 
for cash. The article was light and portable, and he 
invested ten dollars in it, buying the same afternoon 
a ticket for a large provincial town and boarding 
the first train in that direction. At the close of the 
first full day he had thirty dollars besides the bal- 
ance of the five dollars, remaining after the purchase 
of his ticket. Twenty-five dollars of this he invested 
in the same article, and then for six months he 
worked with unflagging zeal and energy. He was 
not always successful on a large scale, but he never 
fell below his lowest ambition, to make each day pay 
for itself in full. 

This young salesman had passed through the 
common schools in the old country ; he was prepos- 
sessing in appearance, substantially though plainly 
dressed ; had a good tongue and ready wit, but was 
deferential and kindly withal. He won from the 
start and closed his career as agent with just one 
thousand dollars all his own — saved over and above 
his expenses for the half year. 

He had been drifting gradually toward a Western 
town which was on the eve of a “boom.” He had 
heard of this town and his instinct guided him 
thither. The first day of his stay in the place 
brought him the information, quite by accident, for 
no one paid any attention to the plain young fellow 
who was little more than a boy, that a company was 
5 


66 


POLLY 


secretly forming with the purpose to buy up all the 
land in and around the city. Not waiting for this 
company nor for any one, not making inquiries con- 
cerning it nor any body, young McLean went out at 
once on his own initiative and succeeded in buying 
five of the best lots in the place, paying an average 
price of one hundred dollars for them, and a tract of 
land just outside of the city limits on the side nearest 
the business center, for four hundred dollars. He 
worked quietly, paid cash, excited no suspicion till 
all was done. Now with his large and important 
holdings he soon became necessary to the great com- 
pany that had been working to capture the land, and 
after holding out a proper length of time he entered 
the company without hesitation, giving his five lots 
for fifty shares of stock, the face value of which was 
one hundred dollars per share, but retaining the 
tract of land outside of the city in the name of a 
mystical land company, concerning the whereabouts 
and identity of which he gave his interlocutors little 
satisfaction. This excited fear and suspicion in the 
minds of the original company, and the effect on the 
general public was to make that particular part of 
the land in and about the city to appear to be the 
most desirable, so its estimated value increased 
daily. 

The boom came on. How they managed it no 
one knows now. Men became wild, crazy. Mc- 
Lean sold his shares at the very height of the tidal 
wave of speculation for twenty thousand dollars, 
subdivided his tract of land into one hundred town 
lots, which in those dizzy days readily sold for one 


THE REST OF THE FAMILY 


67 


thousand dollars apiece on the average. Incredible 
as it may seem now and to those who never followed 
the history of some of those Western booms, the 
young Scot left the town worth one hundred and 
twenty thousand dollars, the result of a cash invest- 
ment a few months before of nine hundred dollars. 
In less than six months after this great coup the 
bubble burst and hundreds were disillusioned with 
nothing left but their poverty. 

As a broker in a large city, McLean’s instinct, his 
intuitive knowledge of men, made him a success 
from the start. For years, from the standpoint of 
the modern financier, he was conducting a perfectly 
legitimate business, but more and more buying com- 
modities for which he had no need on a “margin.” 
His financial advancement was phenomenal, and at 
one time in his history he was a millionaire. Per- 
haps all would have been well with him externally 
if he had not, a little past middle life, retired from 
active business. There he was, a man of energy, a 
bundle of nerves, with nothing to occupy his time, 
and with a habit of gambling that had unconsciously 
become a passion. 

We talk of appetites for drink and other things, 
and of passions for this and that, and our purpose 
is to check or regulate them, but it is passing strange 
that so little is said or written concerning the gam- 
bling habit. Men are governed by it till it becomes 
a desire that deserves to be classed with the appe- 
tites. When it reaches this stage it is the one con- 
trolling influence of life, everything becomes sub- 
servient to it, — love, honor, reverence, patriotism, 


68 


POLLY 


manhood, — and the American people, with charac- 
teristic indifference, are letting this subtle fox prey 
upon their vitals. Children are trained to gambling 
almost from their infancy. It is not an uncommon 
thing to see boys in their teens stand before slot 
machines with a look of intensity on their faces that 
would betoken years of the habit. 

McLean at length reached the turn in the road. 
Luck began to go against him, as he put it. He lost 
his head and then his nerve; he became reckless. 
Large losses followed small ones until at last his 
descent was according to the uniformly acceler- 
ated rectilinear motion of the gambler’s law of 
gravitation. The family moves that have been men- 
tioned were but the punctuation marks of the sen- 
tence — the final sentence of his life. 


CHAPTER VII 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 

By the time little Miranda Jean had reached her 
seventh birthday anniversary her father had almost 
reached his limit of endurance. Failures in recent 
gambling ventures had led to the inevitable, and 
Scotch whiskey became a necessity. No, it was not 
Scotch whiskey, but American whiskey sold under 
the former name. It was pure whiskey “rectified,” 
according to law, with certain drugs that made the 
original slow poison more rapid and certain in its 
work on body and reason. 

Many times, of late, had the poor wife been 
crushed as the man she loved and had respected was 
brought home to her in a state of torpid intoxica- 
tion. It did not take long for this sort of thing to 
transform McLean into a brutal-looking, common- 
place man. One day when he happened to be more 
sober than was his custom, and was able to contem- 
plate his condition intelligently, and to feel shame, 
upon the suggestion of his wife he readily gave his 
consent to move out into the country with his fam- 
ily and there endeavor to begin his life anew. 

It was with a light heart that Mrs. McLean 
packed her few remaining possessions and trans- 
ferred them into a cottage far from the city. A few 
years previous she would not have deemed it pos- 
sible that her large family could lodge in such a 
tiny place. But they began to be happy at once, even 


70 


POLLY 


though the three girls were compelled to share a 
single room, the three boys another, while father 
and mother occupied a dainty little band-box of a 
room. The only remaining room was kitchen, 
dining-room, and parlor, in turn, according to the 
occasion. The house stood upon a little plot of 
ground, affording ample opportunities for experi- 
ments in the direction of gardening. 

Money was all gone, except a little which Mrs. 
McLean had hoarded from the sale of various pieces 
of household finery of which she had disposed as 
she had found advantageous opportunity. Mr. Mc- 
Lean was too weak and too little accustomed to 
work with his fingers to amount to much as a bread- 
winner. He managed to do little chores in the neigh- 
borhood for which he received a pittance, for he was 
now fully alive to the situation and ashamed of him- 
self beyond measure, and anxious to do anything, 
no matter how mean or trifling it might be, if it 
would add to the comfort of the family he had dis- 
graced. Donald Junior became a farm-hand and, 
because of his strength, was soon earning fair 
wages, which became the main support of the fam- 
ily. The money that had been saved was invested 
in a cow, a pony and cart, and some chickens. It 
was astonishing how quickly the mother became ac- 
customed to country ways. James was the market- 
man, and once a week drove ten miles to a large 
town, where he disposed of butter and eggs and 
chickens to regular customers. 

All would have gone well if it had not been for 
the double-headed fiend the father was compelled to 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 


71 


fight. He possessed an iron will and he intended to 
conquer, but no one save his wife ever guessed the 
struggle. 

“I could master the whiskey,” he would say to 
his wife, “if it were not for the other. You can not 
understand how it pursues me. It’s like a thousand 
devils. When I see two urchins playing marbles 
‘for keeps’ I am compelled to grind my teeth to keep 
from dropping on my knees with them, and when 
I see boys matching pennies, my blood runs like fire. 
It ’s then that the thought of whiskey and its prom- 
ised relief maddens me!” And then all night long 
he would walk the little open space in front of their 
bed. The good wife would throw her arms about 
him and pray for him. Then, when the lull came, 
as it always did, she would say in the soft, sweet 
tones that had often soothed him in the days of their 
courtship, 

“What a noble man my Donald is ! The monsters 
caught him unawares, but he is too brave and strong 
for them and he will win !” 

And win he did, but the constant grinding with 
no grist ground the very granite of his nature to 
powder. It was several months, though, before 
they began to notice it. Then his tottering step 
could not but be taken into account. One morning 
late in the summer he could not rise — it was the be- 
ginning of the end. The doctor was called in, to 
whom the whole sad story was told. After the man 
of medicine had made a minute study of the case he 
said, 

“There ’s but one thing that will save him.” 


72 


POLLY 


“Oh, tell us what it is !” pleaded his wife. “Tell 
us quickly, for the love of Heaven !” 

“Whiskey !” 

Silence settled down over the little group of 
watchers, while each one was thinking for himself. 

“It is the most remarkable case I have ever seen,” 
continued the doctor. “I did not know before that 
gambling could ever be classed among the appetites. 
But what you have told me of this case and what 
I have seen of it proves it beyond the shadow of a 
doubt. His iron will seems to have set itself for- 
ever against the habit. It is like ‘the irresistible 
body and the immovable body’ coming together. 
No matter what may be the result on the bodies 
themselves it is destruction to whatever comes be- 
tween, and his life forces are in that situation. 
Whiskey has relieved the tension, or rather, the 
grinding, in the past; it may save him for years to 
come.” 

Deep silence again. At length the stricken man 
looked forth from the keen eyes that were still full 
of life and power. 

“Do you mean, Doctor, that I will die if I do not 
take whiskey?” 

“That is exactly what I mean — your only hope.” 

“Martha,” cried the sick man, “send James for 
the undertaker. I have made up my mind to die 
like a man!” and the blood came up into his pale 
face in two crimson spots under his prominent cheek 
bones. And while there was sorrow in those hearts 
because the death sentence had been pronounced, yet 
there was joy mingled therewith. Father, of whom 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 


73 


they had all been proud in the days of prosperity, 
was going to die a man ! 

He did not die soon. He faded gradually. He 
never had been what might be termed a talkative 
man and he did not materially change in this regard 
during the last weeks of his life, but he did, in his 
own way, — in accord with his own personality, — ac- 
cept the comforts of religion. And as the trees 
began to put off their beautiful garments to welcome 
the coming of their long holiday, so Donald Mc- 
Donald McLean grew more lovely as the latent 
beauties of his personality and character became 
visible, and at last, before the first snow fell, he 
lay before them like the naked tree, bereft of its 
foliage, twisted up by the roots by the winter's 
blast — a fallen giant. 

After the funeral, while Mrs. McLean was weep- 
ing alone in her little room, she heard a gentle touch 
on the latch and then felt a pair of little arms about 
her neck and, 

“Do n't cry, Muzzer," whispered into her ears. 
It was Miranda Jean. 

“I can't help it, little one,” replied the mother, 
half apologetically. “I shall miss him so and he 
did grow so sweet and loving toward the last, with 
the old hateful passions all gone. I know he is bet- 
ter off ; I know he is happy ; I know he 'll never 
have any more struggles and fierce battles — but I 
cry for myself, because I miss him. Then Death 
always makes me cry — he is so pitiless. See how he 
came a few weeks ago and tore that sweet little baby 


74 


POLLY 


from our neighbor’s arms without a moment’s warn- 
ing. Oh, he is so black !” 

“Why, Muzzer, I do n’t think of him that way.” 

“That ’s because you are such an angel,” said 
Mrs. McLean, hugging Miranda Jean close to her 
while she covered her sweet face with kisses and 
the moist remnant of her tears. 

“No, Muzzer; Death is not a black angel. Least 
he is n’t always,” mused the little girl. “I some- 
times think there is more than one of him — Death, 
I mean. At least two anyway.” 

“What do you mean, sweetheart ?” 

“Why, you know what a timid little thing our 
neighbor’s little Tootsy was?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“She was not only ’fraid of the dark, but she was 
’fraid of a shadow. And you know how scared she 
was of strangers ? Why, she would almost go into 
spasms if some one she did n’t know tried to take 
her.” 

“Yes, I know that, dear, but what of it all?” 

“Do n’t you suppose that God loved little 
Tootsy ?” 

“Why, of course, precious. What makes you ask 
such funny questions ?” 

“Did n’t God love her as much as her papa and 
mama did?” persisted the little girl. 

“Infinitely more, my pet.” 

“Her papa and her mama did not want her to be 
scared, did they? Do n’t you remember how care- 
ful they were about shadows, and the dark, and 
skeery things, and strangers, and all that? Why, 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 


75 


her mama sent that mischief Willie to bed, ’cause he 
made a false-face and nearly skeered his little sister 
to death.” 

“Yes, yes, dear; but what are you driving at?” 

“Only this, Muzzer. I know that when God was 
ready for that baby to come up among the little baby 
angels that He would not send a black angel to 
skeer it into fits. You see the poor little spirit was 
all alone for the first time among strangers away 
from its mama. I know He would send the whitest, 
sweetest, purest angel He had to bring it home, so 
that it would cuddle down in her arms as happy and 
satisfied as it would in its mama’s. And I know, 
little Muzzer, that when God wanted my papa He 
would not send a black angel for him, either, after 
all he ’s gone through and the awful fight he ’s had ; 
but He would send a lovely one of light to carry 
him home. So dry your tears, Muzzer dear.” 

“You are an angel yourself, you sweet honey, and 
Muzzer does n’t know what she would do without 
her little comfort.” 

Things went on as usual for a time until winter 
came down in all its fury. Then Donald lost his 
regular employment and things began to look 
serious. The little they had been able to put by for 
the winter had been swept away during the father’s 
long illness, with the funeral expenses to cap it all, 
and now, with Donald out of work, the bread and 
fuel problems became real and ever present. Mrs. 
McLean could find nothing to do. No one in the 
country had any sewing to give her. The pittance 


76 


POLLY 


that came from the sale of the butter and eggs did 
not go far, though she thanked God for the cow 
every morning; for while skimmed milk is not the 
heartiest diet in the world, plenty of it goes far 
toward keeping soul and body together, when prop- 
erly administered to a lot of growing boys and girls. 
But it means something to keep a cow in winter and 
a pony can easily “eat his head off’ as the farmers 
say. Poor Donald was worried almost sick. He 
scoured the region far and wide for work, and now 
and again was rewarded by finding odd jobs, for 
which he was seldom paid in cash; sometimes in 
potatoes, sometimes in pork; once it was corn 
meal; but mostly it was hay, oats, or corn. The 
whole family did their level best to supply fuel. 
With the pony and cart they drove about the coun- 
try and picked up sticks of any size and shape, 
wherever, on or near the public highway, they could 
lay their hands on them. They could now sympa- 
thize as never before with the poor coal-pickers 
whom they had seen in the city yards. Often 
they went to the woods and brought home the dried 
branches of trees, which the boys trimmed into 
shape. All was well as long as the snow remained 
away. But finally the deep snow settled down over 
the landscape as if it had come to stay. Now also 
the rent was due. Rent, fuel, food, provender, 
shoes — all demanding money — what were they 
to do ? 

A family council was called. Mother and 
M’randy Jane were hopeful, all the others were 
gloomy. Mrs. McLean opened the meeting with a 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 


77 


little prayer. One proposed that they sell the cow, 
another that they sell the pony. But how could they 
reach the market with the butter and eggs without 
the pony, and where was the butter to come from 
without the cow ? 

“Might as well sell the whole business,” gloomily 
suggested Donald, “and when we have eaten and 
burned up the cow and the pony and cart and 
chickens, we can notify the officials that we are 
ready to take free board on the county. The Lord 
knows that I would work my fingers to the bone if 
I could only find something to do — but what ’s a 
fellow to do out here where everybody hibernates ?” 
and he slammed his cap down on the floor to give 
emphasis to the gloom he felt. 

“Things do look pretty bad,” said M’randy, “but 
then they might be worse.” 

“Worse!” ejaculated Donald. “How in the thun- 
der could they be worse, I ’d like to know?” He was 
not accustomed to speak recklessly, especially in the 
presence of his mother, but after all he was only a 
boy and he was wrought up to the highest pitch. 

“It would be worse if we had no cow nor pony 
and cart to sell. It would be worse if we were all 
down sick. It would be worse if we had no good 
Muzzer to look after us and help us. It would be 
worse if we did n’t love one another. Things ain’t 
half so bad as you make ’em look, anyway. After 
listenin’ to some of you I feel like cryin’ and givin’ 
up for good and all. But after I ’ve done that, there 
I am just the same as I was before — not a bit better 
off. W’at’s the use of bein’ so ’scouraged all the 


78 


POLLY 


time? There ain’t no good cornin’ from it, and 
w’at’s more, the ’fluence on your own inside ’s bad. 
W’y, w’en a body goes out with that sort of a 
’scouraged feelin’ in his heart, it looks out of his 
face and folks sees it and they do n’t want that kind 
of a body around. Then it makes him skeery and 
sort o’ sickly and he goes up to people in a sort o’ 
fearsome way w’ich ’vites ’scouragement. W’y, I 
b’lieve the bes’ way to have good luck is to feel 
you ’re goin’ to have it somehow, and the bes’ way 
to have bad luck is to feel ’scouraged and show it. 
I b’lieve that ’s more ’n half of it. Let ’s all keep 
bright and cheerful and things ’ll come out all 
right.” 

This rattling speech was greeted with roars of 
laughter, in which M’randy Jane joined heartily 
and the atmosphere was cleared. M’randy always 
dropped her final “g’s” when she was excited. 

“M’randy is right,” the mother said. “A discour- 
aged man is defeated already. A hopeful man 
has won more than half of the battle. We ’ve got 
our battle to fight and by God’s help we are going 
to win. Let us trust in Him and fight with courage 
and hope. 

Donald was more discouraged than the others 
because he had sustained so many personal defeats ; 
but even he was influenced by the sweet philosophy 
of his little sister. As a result of the council it was 
decided that since they were a city family, though 
they were all in love with the country, they would 
better return to the city, and find some cheap apart- 


ONE YEAR IN THE COUNTRY 


79 


ment house way down town till Donald and James, 
at least, could find some kind of work. Mrs. 
McLean herself perhaps could take in sewing. 
Without doubt their circumstances would improve. 


CHAPTER VIII 


BACK TO TH^ CITY 

The cow, and pony and cart, and chickens were 
sold advantageously, with everything else that per- 
tained solely to their country existence, and one day 
they found themselves in the top story of a rickety, 
dirty tenement house, cold in winter and insufferably 
hot in summer. They could scarcely believe that it 
was not an unpleasant dream that would soon fade 
away, for they themselves had lived up town and 
had been benevolently inclined toward the people of 
this region ; indeed, impelled partly by curiosity and 
partly by a peculiar kind of benevolence, they had 
visited these parts on slumming expeditions, and 
had wondered why they had been coldly received. 
“Friendly visiting” is a modern phrase in connection 
with scientific beneficence, but with many it might 
be called “curious visiting.” “Slumming” has 
become a fad among certain classes of the benevo- 
lent well-to-do and this fad has been the inspiration 
of sundry papers in many societies and women’s 
clubs on the ingratitude and scorn of the poor. 
“The Unconscious Rudeness of the Benevolently 
Inclined” is a subject suggested for discussion, and 
a hint might be dropped with the suggestion that 
“friendly” visiting must at least be friendly, and the 
laws of tact and decorum that obtain in the parlors 
of society should be observed here. The friendly 
visitor will do more harm than good unless she 


BACK TO THE CITY 


81 


actuated by love, is supplied with tact, and is willing 
to win the confidence and love of those to whom she 
would minister. 

As has been discovered, Miranda Jean was first 
called “Polly” in this new home. The change was 
hard on this little girl, who loved the country with 
all the intensity of her nature. It was difficult for 
all of them to be bright and sunny in this home, but 
they did their best. Their efforts at times were piti- 
ful to behold. Even Donald put forth his strongest 
efforts. When he came home at night after a day 
of disappointments, he would climb the creaking 
steps whistling as bravely as he could, to let the 
family know he was coming and, incidentally, that 
he was not discouraged. 

Every morning, bright and early, these two 
boys — Donald and James — 18 and 16 — started out 
to seek employment, and every night they came 
home tired and with the same old story — no one 
knew them, no one wanted them. 

Mrs. McLean husbanded the money that came 
from the sale of her property in the country, not 
knowing when the little store would be augmented. 
The cheapest and simplest wholesome food was 
served three times each day. How they missed the 
cow and the chickens ! 

The Christmas season was at hand, a feast which 
had been most sacredly observed by this family from 
the beginning, and this year was to be no exception 
because of their poverty. Mrs. McLean planned a 
simple dinner — a pot-roast of beef (the shoulder 
6 


82 


POLLY 


piece) and potatoes. She also planned some modest 
little surprise for each one, something attractive and 
yet in the line of their respective needs. James was 
to have a new pair of shoes ; Donald, warm mittens ; 
Polly, stockings, etc. But it turned out better than 
she had planned and they had a Christmas dinner 
and celebration that far exceeded their highest ex- 
pectations. 

James had been spending several days in the 
endeavor to see a certain official head in one of the 
great department stores of the city, the official whose 
business it was to look after and supply many of the 
general helpers for the whole store and especially the 
parcels-boys, — the lineal descendants of the dis- 
placed cash-boys of the old regime, — but somehow 
thus far he had been uniformly unfortunate, till the 
day before Christmas, when at last he was ushered 
into the august presence. Tremblingly he stated his 
case to the absent-minded gentleman who was in- 
tent upon the reply that he was about to dictate to 
the important letter before him. 

“No, I guess not/’ was the only answer to the 
eager question put by the boy, as the busy official 
turned to his waiting stenographer. 

Poor little James waited a moment, wistfully, and 
then dejectedly turned away. The building was so 
immense and the way up to the offices had seemed 
so intricate to the nervous boy that in his dazed state 
of sorrow and disappointment he was a little puzzled 
as he started out. Being neatly dressed and immac- 
ulately clean no one among the busy people there 
questioned the little waif as he wandered about. ’ 


BACK TO THE CITY 


83 


At length he stumbled into an office, thinking the 
door to be one through which he had originally en- 
tered, and found himself in the presence of a great 
portly man with a face as round as the sun, and as 
beaming. 

“Well, my little man, what can I do for you?” in 
most kindly tones. 

“I am trying to find my way out, sir ; but I fear I 
am lost.” 

“So you are lost in the great store, are you? 
That is not to be wondered at ; but tell me, how did 
you chance to get up here ?” 

“I came up to see Mr. Arnold.” 

“And may I take the liberty to inquire what you 
might want with my Mr. Arnold ?” 

“I hoped he would give me a position as parcels- 
boy, sir.” 

“And did Mr. Arnold take you on his staff?” 

“I do n’t think I rightly know what you mean, 
sir.” 

“Did he give you the position?” 

“Oh dear, no, sir ; he was very busy with a letter 
or something and I really do not believe he heard 
all I had to say. His eyes did not seem to look at 
me, but at something a great ways off.” 

“And did you want a position so very bad ?” 

“Oh, sir, if you only knew !” and his lip quivered, 
but he manfully forced back the tears that were 
welling in his eyes. These were the first notes of 
sympathy that he had heard in all these days and 
they were almost too much for the little man ; but 
he would not let this kindly old gentleman see him 


84 


POLLY 


cry for anything in the world, hence he fought it out 
with himself before he ventured to answer the next 
question. 

“And what is your name?” 

“James McLean, sir.” 

“And where do you live?” The man was writing 
with his pen in an apparently absent-minded sort of 
way while he asked the questions. 

“On Blacksly street, sir.” 

“Well, that ’s bad enough! You do n’t look nor 
talk like a Blacksly street boy, though. Who is 
your father?” 

“I have no father, sir. He died last fall when we 
lived in the country. His name was Donald Mc- 
Donald McLean. He used to be very rich and lived 
uptown, but he lost all his money and then we went 
to the country; but after he died we were com- 
pelled to come back. We are very poor, sir ; but all 
my brother Donald and I want is work, sir, and then 
we will be all right; we never did beg and mama 
says we will die first. We are able to support the 
family, Donald and I, but nobody seems to want 
us.” James choked again, a little, toward the end 
of this long speech, for he was full and feared he 
would break down yet. The kindness of tone and 
look were more than he was looking for, accustomed 
as he was already to rebuffs and hard words. 

Mr. Harman, head of the company known as 
“Harman, Greaves, & Harman,” blew his nose vio- 
lently several times before he replied. At length he 
said, in a voice that did not sound like the great 
hearty one he had at first employed, 


BACK TO THE CITY 


85 


“To-morrow is Christmas, I believe. I may be 
able to do something for you, my boy. If I know 
anything about human nature, and I sometimes 
think I do, you are a manly little fellow and your 
mother has made a gentleman of you. Come 
around to my house at eight o’clock to-morrow 
morning,” and he wrote his name and address on a 
card and handed it to the boy, and then, touching 
a button on his desk, he turned to the liveried col- 
ored boy who responded to the electric call and in- 
structed him to conduct James down to the street, 
all before the latter could express the thanks that 
were welling up in his heart. 

Now it happened that Harrison Harman was an 
old-time friend of Donald McDonald McLean’s, 
one who had stood by him long after others had 
deserted him, and had endeavored many times to 
help; who remembered with keenest interest and 
delight the brilliant hostess of the McLean mansion 
at many “state” and informal functions — but none 
of these facts was revealed to the boy James. 

Christmas morning found James walking up and 
down in front of the great mansion fully fifteen 
minutes before the clock in the near-by steeple 
began to strike the hour of eight. At the first stroke 
his finger was on the electric button. Mr. Harman 
had been watching the little man in company with 
his daughter from behind the lace curtains of the 
front windows. There was a pleased smile on the 
merchant’s face, for he liked the kind of punctuality 
that was as unwilling to be too early for an appoint- 
ment, as too late. When his young guest entered, 


86 


POLLY 


the good host began by asking many questions con- 
cerning the mother, so many indeed that James won- 
dered why; then a few about his brothers and sis- 
ters, closing the interview by offering him a posi- 
tion as parcels-boy. By way of farewell and at 
the same time a kind of crystallized Chistmas greet- 
ing to the mother, Mr. Harman caused a great 
basket to be brought in, with the biggest turkey on 
top that the boy had ever seen, and with every other 
Christmas goody beneath that any sensible family 
could wish, and in such quantities that it seemed to 
the wondering boy that they would last the whole 
year. This, with smaller baskets, was sent imme- 
diately to Blacksly street. 

No wonder James was excited and happy at the 
dinner table that afternoon ; no wonder Mrs. 
McCean had half a dozen little children up, from 
the regions below stairs, to dine with them; no 
wonder that dainty dishes of good things found their 
way to the sick and the aged in all parts of the tene- 
ment that day. 

By noon it began to snow and the streets were 
soon covered and the sidewalk cleaners were in 
demand. About three o’clock the two older boys 
started out, armed with snow-shovels and brooms to 
find work at cleaning pavements. James’s cheeks 
were noticeably red when he started out. When 
he returned at night, they were aflame. Between 
the two they had earned one dollar and a half, 
which made them jubilant — they were intent on 
becoming bread-winners. James undoubtedly had 


BACK TO THE CITY 


87 


a fever, but no one thought much of the fact at the 
time, for he was full of life, and all were excited. 

That night they had a party. About twenty 
children were invited up and it was pitiful to note 
the efforts that had been made to make them appear 
fixed up for the great occasion, for this was a veri- 
table “society event” to every one of them. The 
illumination of the apartments with candles was 
complete, though the candelabra were varied and 
remarkable, and in no case were they of silver or 
cut glass. A few wreaths that were in the basket 
served well their intended purpose. Tommy Jones 
brought up his violin, and while his music was not 
classical, perhaps the “rag-time” he played was 
better appreciated by a majority of the guests. 
There was dancing at first, as quite the proper thing 
at a “truly” party, but most of the children cared 
little for it, hence games of every description were 
played, from “blindman’s buff” and “still waters” to 
the never-dying “forfeits.” Mrs. McLean was of 
inestimable value as directress, for she seemed to 
have an illimitable supply of games in her store- 
house. 

Not only had the children’s clothes been patched 
and brushed for the occasion and the faces and hands 
scrubbed as never before, but there were evidences as 
marked that the very best company manners they 
could produce had been scraped together for this 
occasion, and while the latter differed somewhat in 
external form from the conventionalities of society, 
the heart back of them that prompted it all was the 
same. This was a great event in the history of the 


88 


POLLY 


house; there had never been anything before ap- 
proaching it in magnificence. Hence the stairs up 
to the top floor, and the ladder connecting with the 
scuttle to the roof, and the narrow hall, were filled 
with the fond parents of the invited guests watching 
with eager eyes the delights the little ones were en- 
joying. There was not a family in the whole tene- 
ment who did not understand that the McLeans were 
a different sort of people from themselves, not that 
they put on airs or displayed pride, far from it — it 
just cropped out naturally as the shining mica out 
of the rugged rock. The McLeans were so graceful 
in their poverty, so true to the best that was in them 
withal, that the denizens of the region honored them, 
looked up to them, bragged about them, and did 
their best to lighten their many burdens. The 
house was proud of the family that lived up under 
the roof ; not another place in the street could boast 
of a genuine family of gentlefolk among them. 

There was an abundance in the refreshment line. 
All the cakes and candy that had come in the big 
basket the little McLeans gladly divided among the 
children. Then the savory coffee from the same 
source made a most welcome drink, not only for the 
half-starved children but for the hungry-looking 
watchers “in the galleries,” as the steps were called 
that night. Every one voted that the coffee was the 
best of all — they had never tasted anything that 
could be compared with it. It warmed them up and 
drove out the snowy chill that permeated the whole 
house. 

During the latter part of the evening, Polly was 


BACK TO THE CITY 


89 


seen to go down-stairs several times with mysterious 
little burdens covered with white. She had not 
forgotten the widow Jenkins, nor Mike McCloskey, 
laid up with a broken leg; nor mama Murphy, who 
in the past week had generously added twins to her 
already numerous progeny; nor “Little Jim,” the 
old little boy, with curvature of the spine. To some 
she carried cake, to some candy, to some, a good 
cup of coffee. In order to do all this the McLean 
children had voluntarily agreed to forego all goodies 
themselves, in view of the wonderful day they had 
had, and of the brighter prospects that seemed to 
open up before them. 

As Polly came back from one of her many trips 
down-stairs, fat good-natured Mrs. Higgins brushed 
a tear from her eye and whispered to her neighbor, 
slim, sorrowful Mrs. Muggins, in a loud stage 
whisper, 

“That child is my pictur’ of an angel. It 
would n’t s’prise me a bit to diskiver that there was 
a pair of pretty wings tucked up under her waist.” 

Mrs. Muggins did not vouchsafe any other reply 
than a grunt, but Mrs. Higgins rightly interpreted 
it to be a grunt of approval. Mrs. Muggins’s world 
was so dark that she had very little if any of the 
visualizing faculty, and it was little she knew about 
angels or anything else spiritual. Her life was a 
hard steady grind, and her sky was always covered 
with clouds. 

The party broke up in a blaze of glory. The last 
tired happy child had gone down-stairs to the place 
called “home.” Mrs. Higgins had brought things 


90 


POLLY 


to a climax by edging herself into the room and 
making a speech in behalf of “the ’partment house,” 
expressing herself as, “Proud it is we are to have 
such perfectly ilegant neighbors under the same 
roof with ourselves/’ and as “wishing to express 
the thanks of the whole house for the joyful time 
that Mrs. McLean and her childer have given us all, 
and wishin’ her and her’n a merry Christmas and a 
happy New Year, and many happy returns of the 
day,” after which there went up a shout of approval 
from all the guests, invited and otherwise, and of 
gratitude from the family of hosts. Before they 
departed, in honor of the day, Mrs. McLean re- 
quested that they sing “Praise God from Whom All 
Blessings Flow,” which they did in their own way, 
with hearty good-will. 


CHAPTER IX 


DARK DAYS 

“Muzzer, that was the happiest Christmas I can 
remember. I did not know it was possible for any- 
body to be as happy as I have been this day. Why, 
it has just seemed like heaven.” This was Polly’s 
enthusiastic speech after the party had broken up 
and all the guests had departed. 

“I think I know the reason why, Polly. You 
children have never once thought of yourselves or 
of your own happiness this day. Your every 
thought has been for these poor children and the un- 
fortunates who dwell under the same roof with us. 
You know who it was who said, ‘It is more blessed 
to give than to receive’? You are finding out its 
truth by the most blessed experience. 

“But what is the matter with James?” continued 
she, as her attention was called to the little boy by a 
sharp cough. “I have heard you cough several 
times, my little man, and your eyes have been so 
bright and your cheeks so red, and you have n’t 
joined in many of the sports. Are you sick, my 
business manager ?” 

“No, Muzzer, I do n’t think I am. I ’ve sort ’ve 
been excited and now I am so tired. I must get 
right to bed and get a good night’s sleep, for I 
must n’t be late to business to-morrow morning, you 
know, Muzzer. Yes, I think I ’ve taken a little cold, 


92 


POLLY 


that ’s all.” And he proved the statement by a 
hoarse cough that rasped his throat most painfully. 

Mrs. Mclyean did not remove her garments that 
night. Mustard plasters, flaxseed tea, hot mustard 
water for the feet, onion syrup, everything she could 
think of she tried without encouraging results. 
The boy grew hoarser and his breath became shorter 
and more difficult. After midnight he was delirious 
a little while. He thought it was morning and time 
for him to go to business, but that they were endeav- 
oring to detain him. It was pitiful to hear him 
plead, 

“You must let me go, Muzzer dear. You know 
I am your only dependence now. I must earn the 
living and take care of you. Do n’t let me be late. 
It ’s so bad to be late. You ’ve got to be on time if 
you want to succeed. What will Mr. Arnold say 
if I am late the first morning! O Muzzer, do n’t 
keep me back! It ’s for your sake I want to go.” 
Here he began to weep piteously, till the mother 
tenderly placed her hand on his brow and whispered 
words of comfort and cheer into his ear. At last 
he fell into a restless sleep that made the weary 
watcher believe that all was well, and so she dozed 
a little in the big rocking-chair by his side, but 
waking at every turn and every groan of the little 
patient. 

In the morning it was evident that James was a 
very sick boy. Donald was despatched at once to 
hunt up the physician for the poor, and about noon 
that over-worked official appeared. He shook his 
head as he pronounced the malady a case of diphthe- 


DARK DAYS 


93 


ritic croup and ordered the rest of the children to be 
isolated while the humble apartments were placed 
under quarantine. 

The day had not advanced far before it was 
discovered that Martha had contracted the disease 
too, and before night Polly showed strong symp- 
toms. They had evidently taken it from the same 
source. James’s exposure and excitement had 
hastened the development of his case and aggravated 
it at the same time. There were three cases in the 
little improvised hospital, with mother as head nurse. 
Donald took charge of the twins in another room 
and was the medium of communication between the 
sick chamber and the outside world. 

The physician soon imparted the information to 
Mrs. McLean that both James and Martha were 
beyond human help, but he hoped to “pull little 
Polly through.” 

The pure white angel messenger came first for 
James, in the early morning hour — a little struggle 
for breath, a little spasm of pain, and all was over 
on the earth side. Dear boy! How anxious he 
had been to do his share! How nobly he had 
worked in the country as “market-man” ! How 
constantly he had struggled since coming to the 
city to find a place that he might support the family ! 
The nervous strain had been too great for him, 
along with the exposure and excitement at the criti- 
cal period, so that the attack of the children’s foe 
had been quick and decisive. Dear boy! How 
sorry he was to leave, when his mother told him 
what the doctor had said ! 


94 


POLLY 


“No, Muzzer, I- ’m not afraid. I know all is well. 
I believe Jesus will send that lovely angel Polly 
talked about. I shall be so happy ! And I shall see 
father! But, O Muzzer, I had just gotten that posi- 
tion, and what will you do now without me! I am 
afraid you will starve!” And he could not keep 
back the tears of unselfish regret. 

“Do n’t cry, dear little man. You have been 
Muzzer’s comfort, and Muzzer will miss her sup- 
port, oh so dreadfully! but God will take care of 
us. He cares for the little sparrows you know, and 
He loves us more than them, and He will care for 
us.” But in spite of her comforting speech the 
brave little woman mingled her tears with her boy’s. 

“Be sure to send Donald to tell Mr. Harman why 
I did not come! I know he ’ll think it strange — ” 
were the last words he uttered before the cloud 
settled upon his active mind. 

Martha went out in the early twilight. She had 
been in a stupor from the first. Poor ugly little 
Martha! Always quiet, always self-conscious, ever 
afraid of obtruding herself upon others, often mis- 
understood. The stolid homely features were of 
clay! The little Martha the “white angel” bore 
away was transcendently beautiful. The family 
were now divided, according to Mrs. McLean’s way 
of putting it, “Five on earth and three in heaven.” 

There was genuine sorrow in the old tenement 
house and up and down Blacksly street, as the two 
plain little boxes were carried out. There was re- 
joicing all over the house when it was reported that 
Polly had passed the crisis and would get well. 


DARK DAYS 


95 


The next day after the burial Donald sought Mr. 
Harrison Harman, and not finding him, left a note 
written by Mrs. McLean : 

“Mr. Harrison Harman: 

“My little boy , James , was unable to keep his 
engagement with you and to enter into the position 
of parcels-boy in your store , which you so kindly 
offered him. He was taken ill on Christmas day 
and we buried him yesterday , together with my little 
Martha. Permit me to thank you for the joyous 
Christmas your kindness and generosity made pos- 
sible for my family , an earlier acknowledgment of 
which sickness and bereavement have prevented me 
from making. Sincerely , 

“Martha Aujson McLean.” 

That night Mrs. McLean waited in vain for 
Donald to return. Nor did he come the next day. 
Wild with fear and trouble the heart-broken mother 
notified the police, but after days of searching no 
trace could be found. 


CHAPTER X 


JUDSON AND PODDY 

Just half a block from the tenement house in 
which Mrs. McLean had taken up her abode with 
her family was the corner of Morrow street, which 
was the beginning of Blacksly street. The 
McLeans and Judson had thus been living in close 
proximity to each other for some time without 
acquaintance. Judson was slow to form friend- 
ships. His country training had something to do 
with this but his own individuality was the real 
cause. Among the few friendships that the young 
writer began to make was a most delightful one with 
the McLeans. 

Judson had seen the McLean children on Blacksly 
street just as he had seen the other children. He 
had noted the difference between them and had put 
it down mentally that they were not of that street, 
if they did live there. Soon after the eventful 
Christmas in the McLean apartments he had been 
in a position where he could see the face of little Miss 
Polly and had found himself instantly drawn to her, 
not simply because of her rare beauty and sprightli- 
ness but by a certain indescribable something that 
made him think of radiance. He felt drawn 
toward her because of her radio-activity. He made 
up with her as soon as he was able to force the op- 
portunity, and it was not long before they were fast 
friends. The result of this friendship was a speedy 


JTJDSON AND POLLY 


97 


introduction into the presence of the broken-hearted 
though ever-patient mother, who took the mother- 
less boy in. The little girl, by some blessed instinct, 
would not make an acquaintance or form a friend- 
ship into partnership with which she could not bring 
her mother. The friendship which sprang up 
between widow and motherless boy was a blessing 
to both, and the latter will probably never under- 
stand fully all that he owes to it. It was the thing 
the lonely country boy needed most in the heart of 
the great unsympathetic city. 

Mrs. McLean soon began to supply to the full the 
natural demand for woman’s companionship and 
counsel. She helped him in the fine lines of polish, 
she instructed him in the intricate and devious ways 
of society, of which she herself was past-mistress — 
things that can not possibly come by intuition or 
reason, the knowledge of which a boy reared in the 
country has little or no opportunity to gain. While 
society had no attraction for Judson as yet, he was 
compelled to touch it now and then from force of 
circumstances over which he had no control. He 
wanted to be at home on these occasions, hence he 
welcomed this new help. But more than that she 
supplied in a beautiful and unobtrusive way the place 
of a mother. Judson was different from the multi- 
tude of boys that came to the city to seek their for- 
tune. He had an aim in life that kept him steady ; 
he did not love certain things that others craved, 
and hence was in less danger than many, yet he 
needed some things that Mrs. McLean supplied 
7 


98 


POLLY 


most grandly, though all unconsciously to herself. 
She helped him' especially in matters religious. 
Having been reared in the Church and to a devout 
life, religion was as natural to him as the air he 
breathed. This had been as true at college as at 
home, for in both places the tendency of the leaders 
had been in that direction. But as a stranger in a 
great city, the churches had seemed so cold and un- 
inviting that it had not been difficult for him to lose 
the church habit. It was not easy for him to pass 
from the state of being chief man in the synagogue 
to that of an absolute nobody, hence he joined the 
vast army of non-church-goers that throng the 
streets, parks, and public places in all our cities. It is 
true that he still prayed, but less and less communed, 
until his private devotions became but a habit with- 
out vitality. While he formed no bad habits and 
was in no sense immoral, his personal religion was 
at its lowest ebb and amounted to little as a help or 
comfort or inspiration in his life. In a tactful, un- 
ostentatious manner Mrs. McLean gradually 
brought him up out of the depths 

But how he did enjoy Polly ! She soon began to 
supply another craving of his nature, — to supply and 
to create at the same time, — that for bright young 
winsome life. They grew wonderfully fond of each 
other. 

Polly was past her eighth birthday when Judson 
had a conversation with her that he never forgot 
and that became the subject of a little sketch in The 
Panorama soon after. They were seated on an old 


JUDSON AND POLLY 


99 


bench in the court of the tenement house in which 
the little girl lived. 

“Say, Mr. Judson, what do you do for a living, 
anyway ? In some ways I think you must be sort of 
lazy. You sleep so late and you seem to have so 
much time to do as you please. What do you do? 
or perhaps you are rich ?” 

“No, Polly, I am not rich. I am a reporter.” 

“Reporter! What ’s reporter?” 

“A reporter is a man who hunts up news for 
newspapers.” 

“Well ! Do you mean you have to poke about 
everywhere to find out what ’s going on ? I thought 
that people always sent things in to the papers that 
they wanted printed.” 

“You are right in part, Polly; we do a good deal 
of poking about. But we never would get the most 
readable news if we waited for people to send it in. 
We ’ve got to go and hunt fot it.” 

“Hum ! What else do you do to fill in your time? 
You s6em to have plenty of it. It must be easy to 
be reporter, because they let you get up when you 
want to.” 

“Sometimes I am very busy, Polly, and have no 
time for anything else ; but I have had a great deal 
of time in my life which I have filled in by writing.” 

“Writing? Letters? Well, that must be poky 
too.” 

“No, not letters; stories.” 

“Why, Mr. Judson, that *s dreadful ! I would n't 
do that for anything in this world! Why, it ’s just 
dreadful !” 


L0F& 


100 


POLLY 


“Why, Polly, I do n’t know what you meaif by 
that. I think it is one of the finest things in the 
world to be able to write the right kind of stories, 
and that is my ambition — to write the right kind.” 

But Polly unconsciously edged away from him as 
if his touch might be contaminating, and looked up 
into his face with such a comical expression of fear 
and disgust and question that Judson was compelled 
to indulge himself in a hearty laugh. 

“Come, Polly, what is the matter with you? You 
certainly must have misunderstood me. Some of 
the grandest men that have ever lived have written 
stories.” 

“Yes, I suppose that ’s so. But then, you see, it ’s 
such a dreadful re-spon-si-bil-i-ty. Oh, I tell you, 
Mr. Judson, I would n’t have it on my mind for any- 
thing you could give me.” And she shuddered at 
the bare thought. 

“Not nearly the responsibility that other men 
have. There ’s the doctor, or minister, or lawyer, 
or railroad engineer, or even a motorman, all of 
whom have greater responsibility than a humble 
author. It is true a writer may cause people who 
trust him to think wrong and do wrong, but then 
he must be careful, that is all. I think you will 
have to explain yourself a little more fully, Miss 
Polly, or I shall still be in the dark.” 

“Why, it ’s just this way,” explained she, “least 
it has always seemed so to me, that when a man 
writes stories in a way he becomes like God — he 
truly makes people, he cre-ates them, and they go 
right on livin’, unless he stops them all at the end 


JUDSON AND POLLY 


101 


of 'the book by makin’ them all die; but nobody 
would want to read that kind of book.” Medita- 
tively, “No, I do n’t know just where they live — cer- 
tainly not in this world. Perhaps each story-teller 
has a world of his own for his people — one who 
writes many books, a great big world; one who 
makes only one or just a few, a tiny world. But it 
is perfectly dreadful to think of all those people 
starting out just as you made them and they can’t 
help themselves.” Then she laughed. “But it is 
funny, too, to think of all those people goin’ on. I 
should think you would want to hear from them 
often, just as a mama wants to hear from her boy 
when he ’s away, for they are your own truly chil- 
dren, you know.” Then soberly again, “But, Mr. 
Judson, I never thought it of you. I b’lieve I ’ll be 
afraid of you now for ever and ever. Just to think 
what you have done!” And she looked, at him 
again with one of her irresistibly funny looks. 

“I am afraid some of the people thus created 
would be pretty queer, and if their authors met some 
of them I think they would be so astonished and 
alarmed that they would never want to create any 
more. I think it would cure them for ever. I do n’t 
suppose you ever heard of a being named ‘Franken- 
stein’ who was said to have been made and endowed 
with life by a man. He was the most horrible being 
any one could possibly imagine. I am thinking 
that in some of the worlds about which you have 
been speaking there would be a good many Frank- 
ensteins.” Judson did not attempt to argue with 
her, he was too amused, and then the thought was 


102 


POLLY 


so perfectly original and unique that it seemed a 
shame to spoil it. 

On another occasion Judson was talking with 
Polly, as he was fond of doing whenever he had 
opportunity, when the conversation drifted around 
to sunshine, and then to the kind of sunshine we 
can make. 

“Smiles are wonderful things,” mused Polly. 

“That is true,” assented Judson. “I wonder why 
it is that some persons smile often while others do 
more frowning than smiling. It is n’t because of 
circumstances, I am sure, because some of the 
wealthiest persons I ever knew did the most frown- 
ing, while some of the poorest are the sunniest. 
Now there ’s Polly, a very particular friend of mine, 
she is in poor circumstances just now, which is 
harder to bear because she has known better, and 
she has had any amount of trouble besides, yet her 
face is nearly always wreathed in smiles, and she 
ever has a cheery word for everybody. I do not 
know what her mama would do without her. I 
never heard her complain in my life, and I never 
saw her cross like other little girls I have known. 
I wonder why?” 

“That is n’t such a hard one, after all,” returned 
Polly. “This little friend of yours is not so won- 
derful. She simply can’t help it, that ’s all. Her 
smiles are her truly self peeping out of the windows 
of her face. You know our body is n’t us at all, it ’s 
just our house — but every once in awhile the truly 
person within peeps out of the window. If she is 


JUDSON AND POLLY 


103 


sunny, then the smiles come oftener; if she is 
cloudy, then the frowns.” 

“ I am sure you are right, Polly.” 

“But one of the most sorrowful things is to see 
a cloudy person trying to be sunny — practicing it 
before a glass. A minister used to come to see 
mama, and I know he was a regular thunder-storm 
inside. How did I know? I can ’t just exactly say. 
One way I knew was the way he treated children, 
he fairly hated ’em. But he thought he ought to 
smile, and I am just certain he stood before the 
glass trying, till he got his face fixed. My! You 
ought to have seen him when he called — he just put 
on that funny smile like a false-face; it was n’t the 
real man looking out at all. I wish you could have 
seen it!” 

“I know what you mean. I went to a church 
down-town, not long ago. I have always felt like 
complaining ever since I have been in the city that 
the church people were not cordial enough to 
strangers. But here, as soon as I started out, some 
one spoke to me very kindly, ‘You are a stranger; 
glad to see you; come again’ — all with a smile of 
welcome. ‘That ’s something like,’ thinks I. But 
before I could get out of that church, I am sure 
that at least ten different groups got hold of me, by 
ones and twos and threes. They all said precisely 
the same thing, word for word; and worst of all, 
they had exactly the same smile — the same false- 
face. Then I understood it all — they had all been 
trained by a sort of captain or leader, who drilled 
them in what they ought to say and even in the 


104 


POLLY 


smile they ought to smile. They did their part well, 
but it was too much like turning the crank of a 
machine for me, and I breathed a sigh of relief 
when I got out, and I made up my mind never to go 
there again.” 

“Yes, you must be clear and bright inside for 
certain, if you want to look that way and act that 
way — ’cause you yourself are sure to look out of 
the windows some time, even when you do n’t know 
it yourself.” 


CHAPTER XI 


MARIE HARMAN 

Miss Marie Harman, young, beautiful and win- 
some, was the daughter of Harrison Harman, one 
of the city’s wealthiest men, and not any the less 
attractive on that account to some of her set. 
Wealth is a good foil for plainness and enhances 
beauty quite beyond reason. Miss Harman moved 
in those circles of society to which her family and 
means, to say nothing of her personal graces and 
charms, gave her the entree, and while she was a 
part of it in all of its forms and functions, yet in 
many regards she was different from and superior 
to it. 

Descriptions of beauty are usually unsatisfactory 
and frequently so inaccurate and misleading that 
could such a being as described exist it would be a 
prodigy. Nevertheless, the imagination needs a 
little help in certain general lines that can easily be 
given. This young heiress was above medium 
height, possessed deep blue eyes, like open wells re- 
flecting the azure of the skies, and was crowned 
with sunny hair. Her complexion was clear, her 
mouth, rather over large but shapely, enclosing 
under its sweetly expressive lips two rows of the 
whitest teeth. Her smile, which was her true self 
“looking out of the window of her face,” had in it 
the suggestion of Heaven. She was not only beau- 


106 


POLLY 


tiful to an unusual degree, but sympathetic, kind, 
and good. 

Among the many men who admired Miss Har- 
man and would have sought her hand if they had 
dared were two more bold than the rest, who came 
to be looked upon by the world in the light of suit- 
ors : Theodore Parsons, of excellent family but too 
energetic to live the life of idleness which their 
means would have permitted, a reporter on The 
Daily Gleam; and Gilbert Henry Van Dyke, the son 
of a wealthy merchant, who likewise had no need of 
doing aught to win his daily bread and, it might be 
added, little inclination in that direction, but who 
held a nominal position in his father’s business, 
having a quartered-oak roll-top desk in a private 
office on the glass door of which his name was 
painted in gold letters with some fancy title af- 
fixed — a title that signified little or nothing in the 
management of the business. Here he dropped in 
whenever it suited his convenience, attended to his 
social correspondence, and was at home to his 
friends during the day when they came to see him 
casually or by appointment, and here he drew his 
handsome salary at stated intervals. 

Parsons was a man of ambition and determina- 
tion, a man of force, but in a sense unscrupulous, 
just the kind of a man in whom The Gleam de- 
lighted — one to whom nothing was too sacred, who 
would hesitate at no scandal, no family secrets, no 
closeted skeletons. The main thing with him and 
with The Gleam was the news, and the spicier the 
better. He possessed the kind of an imagination 


MARIE HARMAN 


107 


that can embellish a story in such an adroit manner 
that, while those best acquainted with the circum- 
stances feel the injustice, they are unable to put 
their finger on any one thing that is far out of the 
way. Many a time an irate man has called at the 
office with something like murder in his heart, only 
to go away chagrined because he was compelled to 
admit the substantial truth of the very statements 
he had condemned. Moreover, the young reporter 
was handsome in his own way, splendid company, 
and a general favorite with ladies and gentlemen 
alike. 

Van Dyke boasted of a different type of good 
looks. His was of the languid, listless sort which 
compels admiration even when the judgment does 
not confirm. In spite of his apparent languor, the 
life of this young man had been rapid enough and 
there was little of the so-called pleasure of the world 
with which he was unacquainted. As a boy he 
had been petted and spoiled by fond and indulgent 
parents and by proud older sisters, and in his young 
manhood, where they had left off in their lavish at- 
tentions, he was willing and competent to begin. 
For a year now he had found little to interest or 
excite him, hence he was suffering from a severe 
and protracted case of ennui. The only things that 
seemed to make life worth the living were an auto- 
mobile and a steam yacht, gifts from his father. 
The yacht had come fully equipped in honor of his 
twenty-first birthday anniversary. Of this he never 
grew weary, and when land with its monotony of 
events threatened to corrode his faculties, a cruise, 


108 


POLLY 


long or short, proved to be just the medicine of 
which he stood in need, and was certain to restore 
his equilibrium and put him in better relations with 
the rest of the world. Of late there had been a 
counter attraction in the shape of this bright, beauti- 
ful, and winsome woman. 

Van Dyke had been accustomed to ladies' 
society ever since his older sisters, in their pride, 
began to exhibit their handsome little brother to 
their admiring and often foolish girl friends. He 
had played with them, flirted with them, and sparred 
with them, but always thus far with the same re- 
sult — weariness. Unfortunately, he had been led 
to believe from the beginning that all girls would 
fall in love with him naturally. And there were just 
enough of that sort with whom he came in daily 
contact all the way along to keep him in perfect in- 
difference to the whole sex and often even cynical. 
But he knew Miss Harman was different from all the 
rest, at the beginning of their acquaintance, and 
that in itself prejudiced him in her favor. There 
was something about her carriage that told him 
that first night that she was a new proposition for 
him to solve. 

Van Dyke had formed the habit of absenting 
himself from ordinary society functions about the 
time that Miss Marie had “come out," and had 
given them the cold shoulder for more than a year, 
when at length, upon the urgent request of his sis- 
ter Bess, he deigned to honor with his presence an 
informal dance at the home of a close friend. Bess 
had planned the whole thing with a certain object 


MARIE HARMAN 


109 


in view. Soon after he arrived on the scene she 
took him by the arm before he could object, say- 
ing, 

“No fooling now, you come with me this time 
as *a favor !” 

“But what for? What are you going to do 
with me?” 

“Be good and come with me.” 

“But you can’t run me around like you did when 
I was a boy, Bess; I ’m beyond that you know.” 

“You ’re coming with me this time, though, for 
I ’ve planned this for a purpose, and I ’m going to 
have my way once, if never again, Do n’t struggle 
or everybody will see something ’s up. Come on 
now, there ’s a good fellow.” With that she gave 
him a sudden turn and brought him face to face 
with Marie Harman, the vivacious center of an ad- 
miring group. “Miss Harman, I do not believe you 
have ever met my brother; permit me to present 
him. Gilbert, this is Miss Harman, of whom you 
have heard me speak so often.” 

“It is kind of you, Mrs. Palmer, to permit me to 
know your brother. Mr. Van Dyke, I am charmed 
to know your sister’s brother. You will have to 
help us decide an important question. We are about 
divided here as to the relative merits of golf and 
tennis. I am speaking for golf. As I was just 
saying when you arrived, golf keeps you out of 
doors, it is not so violent, it cultivates grace; for 
when a girl once becomes a good golf player, 
handling her clubs as she should, she can not help 
being graceful. There is no act more graceful than 


110 


POLLY 


a perfect ‘drive/ Talk about dancing as a ‘means 
of grace,’ why it just can’t compare with it. And 
as for that rough and tumble game tennis, why you 
might as well skip rope.” And so she went on as 
if she were unconscious of the newcomer’s presence. 

Because of her peculiarly winsome beauty and of 
a subtle something that attracted him instantly, the 
nature of which was a mystery to him, he went out 
of his way to be attentive to her. His comment to 
his sister was, “She is different from any other girl 
I ever knew in all my life.” He was piqued and 
goaded at the same time when he discovered that 
this charming creature evidently did not appreciate 
the high honor that had been conferred upon her in 
this new acquaintance. This treatment gave him 
a new sensation, and he was not quite certain 
whether he ought to be gratified or angry because 
his merits and position had received such shocking 
lack of recognition. The blow his pride had re- 
ceived produced a mild form of excitement, which 
was one good result at least, and he actually re- 
mained awake a whole hour that night after retir- 
ing, pondering the matter, and finally fell asleep 
with the determination ripe within him that he 
would make the “young thing” know who he was. 

Van Dyke was right. Miss Harman was differ- 
ent from the other young women. She enjoyed 
society and its pleasures, but these were not all of 
life and she had ideals and ambitions beyond them. 
In time the almost superhuman efforts of Parsons 
and Van Dyke began to appear to have some effect 
upon her. She was more frequently with them than 


MARIE HARMAN 


111 


with any other men. When she overheard whisper- 
ings she naturally questioned herself. She acknowl- 
edged to herself that she enjoyed Mr. Parsons's 
society more than that of other men, because he 
was full of life and fire. But there was much about 
him that she could not approve of — but then there 
were few of them of whom she could not say that. 
He was one of the masterful men, especially at- 
tractive to certain types of women. His reportorial 
instinct would ascert itself, though he never talked 
“shop,” and he would unconsciously dominate every 
conversation in which he took any interest what- 
ever with story and incident, and this often caused 
less favored men to grind their teeth in anguish. 
Then the young woman discovered that he often 
talked sense, and what he said was bright and 
sparkling and worth listening to — quite contrary to 
the ordinary run of society conversation. She also 
confessed to herself that she enjoyed Mr. Van 
Dyke’s society, but it was easy to give the reason. 
She had been brought up in the old-fashioned style 
that impressed upon the minds of girls the benefit 
and pleasure derived from fresh air and exercise. 
She was quite athletic in her tendencies and was 
immeasurably fond of golf and tennis, to say 
nothing of riding and milder forms of exercise, and 
Mr. Van Dyke had been able to bring the roses to 
her cheeks more than once and to fill her with 
ecstasy, not because of his own personality, but be- 
cause of a passion for the automobile and the steam 
yacht. The man himself had little or no energy, he 
was conceited without the excuse of merit, he was 


112 


POLLY 


a talker but not a conversationalist, and his char- 
acter was not of the highest type, though no worse 
than the majority of the men with whom he asso- 
ciated. “Would n’t he be complimented,” the young 
lady mused, “if he knew in what direction his real 
attractions lay?” 

Miss Harman had never been conscious of any- 
thing approximating coquetry in her character, and 
yet she found it exciting, as the mad rivalry between 
the two young men began to exhibit itself publicly, 
to stand the one off against the other in self-protec- 
tion. It was her purpose not to permit either man 
to gain from her a single sign of encouragement, 
for the thought of the possibility of loving either 
never for a single moment entered her pretty head. 


CHAPTER XII 
the: cruise: or "the spray” 

One summer evening Van Dyke called at the 
Harman mansion with a great scheme in his head. 
Why had he not thought of it before? It was long 
after the rivalry between Parsons and himself had 
become an acknowledged fact. He had recently 
made the discovery, and for the first time in his life, 
that he lacked something, and to his chagrin he saw, 
at the same time, that his rival Parsons possessed 
that same thing to a marked degree. He had always 
been accustomed to being the center of the social 
groups into which he entered, and had scowled at 
the social successes that had come to him all un- 
sought and undesired. But now, the first time in all 
his life that he had wished to shine in the eyes of 
One in particular, he found it impossible, and the 
eyes of that One seemed no more attracted to him 
than to others. He raved hopelessly when he 
acknowledged it to himself, but truly his chances 
were not the best when “that man Parsons, with his 
everlasting conceited talk, was around.” 

This particular evening he was fortunate enough 
to have the young lady all to himself. After the 
initial pleasantries of the occasion were well over, 
he said, 

“I Ve got a scheme, Miss Harman, which I 
should like to present to you for approval.” 

8 


114 


POLLY 


“How nice, Mr. Van Dyke; I love to be con- 
sulted on schemes — it makes me feel so important.” 

“It is because of your importance that I have 
come to consult with you this evening.’’ 

“Oh, thank you ! I am already beginning to feel 
puffed up. But the scheme, Mr. Van Dyke?” 

“Why, it is simply this — a cruise up the coast of 
Maine on The Spray. My thought was to have a 
very select party — Miss Irwin, Miss Gauntt, Miss 
Emerson, Miss Wyckoff,” bosom friends of Miss 
Harman’s, “with Gifford, Von Tyler, Watkins, and 
McIntyre,” especial favorites of the little coterie of 
ladies just mentioned, but not one of them in any 
sense an accepted lover, “with your uncle and his 
wife, I mean your father’s youngest brother, and 
my sister Bess and her husband, and your Aunt 
Hettie, if she will not be lonesome, as chaperons. 
Another couple would not crowd us in the least. I 
leave that with you. What do you think? I have 
not spoken to a soul before ; I wanted your approval 
first.” 

Miss Harman smiled internally at the uncon- 
scious though certain sense of proprietorship ex- 
hibited by the young man in word and manner, and 
also at the omission of the name of one man from 
the list, a man who had once been the most intimate 
friend of the yachtsman — Mr. Parsons. A spirit 
of mischief entered her heart and was entertained 
there, and this spirit dictated her part of the conver- 
sation. 

“I approve everything you have said, Mr. Van 
Dyke, in every minute particular, but I am glad you 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


115 


left room for another. I am looking for a guest, 
my dearest friend, Miss Dorothy Hamline. A let- 
ter informs me she will arrive to-morrow or next 
day, that a telegram will give me the exact time. 
She will spend the remainder of the summer with 
me and I want her to have the very best time of her 
life. As poor Traddles used to say, ‘She ’s the dear- 
est girl/ I am just certain you men will all fall in 
love with her, and I know she will be wild over the 
cruise. I am sure you must have heard of her 
father — he is one of those Colorado silver kings/’ 

“That will be just the thing; but in order to 
make the company square, it will be necessary to 
add another man. Let me see, who shall it be? 
There ’s Spencer and Will Kirk, and — ” 

“Why, of course,” innocently interrupted the 
maiden, “Mr. Parsons. He will be such an addi- 
tion, because he is so full of life. I wonder you had 
not mentioned him, you are such good friends. 
Then, you can’t find better company anywhere. All 
the girls like him and I am sure Dorothy will. Just 
the thing, add Mr. Parsons! Only you know that 
he is such a slave to that old Gleam. I would n’t 
read it for the world.” 

There was nothing poor Van Dyke could do. 
He had planned the whole affair in order that he 
might get Marie Harman away from the influence 
of this man Parsons, with the hope that he himself 
might be the gainer; and now the miserable girl 
had gone and spoiled it all. He hid his feelings, 
however, and dissembled beautifully when he said, 

“I was just going to mention his name. Yes ? of 


116 


POLLY 


course, let it be Parsons. All the girls like him. I 
am like you, I can’t abide The Gleam.” 

Now it happened that the night before Parsons 
had been the caller, and incidentally Miss Harman 
had learned that his vacation was to begin the 
fifteenth of August. Hence, when Van Dyke asked 
the next question the cruel girl was ready for him. 
If Parsons had known with what strategy she had 
fought his battle on this occasion he would have 
been elated beyond measure. 

“When would we better start ?” 

“Let me see — this is the first of August — I have 
been home only a week from my annual trip on the 
great lakes with papa. I had planned going to Bar 
Harbor with Dorothy about the middle of the month 
to remain with Uncle George till we wearied of the 
place. Since mama’s death papa will not go there 
and Uncle George usually occupies our house. I 
would much prefer to cruise awhile first so as not to 
get there too soon. Suppose we fix it for the mid- 
dle of the month? That will give us girls some 
time for necessary preparation.” 

“That suits me to a t. It will give me two weeks 
to perfect my plans and preparations. We will 
make it as nearly exactly the middle as possible — 
the fifteenth.” 

After a study of maps and much unimportant 
conversation relative to the minute details, Van 
Dyke departed with the full assurance in his own 
heart that he had played his part well and that it 
would come out all right in the end, for he was 
morally certain that Parsons could not get off — he 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


117 


was by far too important a man on The Gleam to 
obtain lengthy leave on short notice, especially in 
summer when the staff was short-handed. 

He prepared his invitations at once, as most of 
them had to go out of town at that season ; but he 
held back Parsons’s for a week, “to make assurance 
doubly sure” he said to himself with a grim smile. 
The next day he was surprised, not to say cha- 
grined, to receive the following characteristic note : 

“Dear Van Dyke: 

“Thanks all over ! I wondered how and where I 
was going to spend my vacation, and now you have 
kindly solved the problem for me. Who told you 
that I got off on the fifteenth? I ’ve been keeping 
mum about it. Count on me! 

“Yours for the cruise, 

“Theodore: Parsons.” 

“If that does n’t beat the very !” were the 

words with which the note was greeted. But he 
had to “grin and bear it.” He was master of the 
ship though, and he would be second to none on 
board. After he became more accustomed to the 
thought he ceased to repine and began to look for- 
ward to the voyage with pleasant anticipations; 
besides, Parsons was invited as Dorothy Hamline’s 
company and he alone was to be paired with the'fair 
Marie. 

Every person invited made it convenient to 
accept, and just seventeen, including the delightful 


118 


POLLY 


chaperons, assembled on the forward deck the first 
day out. 

“Is n’t it nice that we are just one jolly sensible 
party ?” queried Miss Harman. “And would n’t it 
be horrible if we were a lot of sillies hunting up 
out-of-the-way nooks hidden from the others. I 
think this crowd will have a glorious time — we are 
all so congenial.” 

“Our chaperons will have the easiest kind of 
work on that account,” said one of the young ladies. 
“Their office will be a sinecure. Their hands 
would be full enough if they had some of those non- 
sensical crowds to look after.” 

“I think the crowd is perfect,” continued Marie, 
“and Mr. Van Dyke displayed the best of judgment 
in its selection.” 

“So say we all of us !” echoed another. 

“Thank you,” said Van Dyke, with a suggestion 
of rudeness in his voice that few could understand. 
“I did the best I could and I am glad you are all so 
pleased with yourselves.” 

“You may count me out of that,” Miss Hamline 
insisted, “for I must confess that I have a criticism 
to offer in reference to this crowd.” 

“Oh! indeed, we crave to know your criticism, 
Miss Hamline,” the skipper retorted. “Perhaps we 
may remedy matters by throwing some one over- 
board. If I am the man, do not let delicacy make 
you hesitate to say it, for I am willing to be a 
martyr for the happiness of this company, to pre- 
serve that congeniality that has been so marked, and 
I ’ll jump over” — making as if he would remove his 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


119 


coat — “or have I misinterpreted? Perhaps it is 
some dear absent one for whom our guest is pining. 
In that case, say the word and we will sail the seas 
over for him.” 

“No, I would not throw any one overboard. I 
would not want it on my conscience, you know, no 
matter how much I desired it; then it would spoil 
the party, 'you are all so congenial/ Nor would I, 
as a stranger and a guest, the first day at least, re- 
quest our skipper to relieve us. That may come 
later, however, if he does not behave himself in 
accord with the requirements of this congenial 
crowd. But there is a dear absent one, and I must 
confess that it was he of whom I was thinking when 
I suggested a criticism. His presence would make 
my cup of happiness full to the brim.” 

“How delightful this is !” exclaimed Parsons. 
“A summer romance from real life! Love’s own 
confession! The naivete of it all is charming! 
Tell us quickly, that we may pursue him and re- 
move forever the last possibility of criticism. If I 
only could be permitted to assume my role of re- 
porter for once, what a story I could make for The 
Gleam!” 

“Mr. Captain, I wish you would direct your sail- 
ing-master to sail around and up into the State of 
Colorado — where he lives and is unhappy this 
minute, I am sure, because of my absence — and pick 
up my brother Arthur. He’s just the grandest man 
that ever lived — with the usual allowances, made 
for the omnipresent company, and qualifications 
necessary for the superlative degree, both under- 


120 


POLLY 


stood. I know he would fall in love with this com- 
pany. I have not learned your powers of self-con- 
trol sufficiently to be willing to venture a prediction 
in reference to your falling in love with him. 
You ’ll pardon my reference to him I know. My 
brother is such a hard student and takes life in gen- 
eral so seriously that he needs recreation and relax- 
ation more than he gets, but he will not take it. 
And when I am off having a good time I always 
feel a little sad because he will deny himself the 
things that I enjoy and know would benefit him. 
Have I become serious enough?” 

“I fear me there are too many rocks in the way, 
Miss Hamline, and we have no chart with us for 
that part of the sea. You were indeed more serious 
than we thought. We shall be delighted to meet 
and carry with us your distinguished brother 
another time; but for the present, I am sure, his 
charming sister will more than compensate for his 
absence. I speak for the gentlemen aboard.” 

The day was one of those unspeakable ones in 
August that can never be appreciated to the full on 
land. The ocean was like a sea of glass, with just 
sufficient breeze stirring to counteract the heat of 
the sun’s rays. The sky was covered with a filmy 
cloud that was suggestive of the imagination and 
dreams and artists’ visions. A sense of peace per- 
vaded nature which even the gulls seemed to feel, 
for they floated along languidly above the yacht as 
if they needed to make no effort at all to keep pace 
with the slow-going human machine beneath them. 
The conversation just recorded was not entirely in 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY’ 


121 


accord with the spirit of the day. It was too 
sprightly and insistent. Already the members of the 
ship’s company were settling back in their steamer 
chairs amid the cushions, in dreamy enjoyment of 
the hypnotic influences of Mother Nature. Miss 
Harman’s statement at the outset had been out of 
accord with the atmosphere and the general fitness 
of things, to say nothing of the plans and purposes 
of more than one on board. Several of the men 
were seriously Contemplating that statement with 
critical feelings. At least two of them had no other 
purpose in view than out-of-the-way nooks and 
tete a tetes therein, with one and the selfsame 
young lady whose shapely head was just as much 
set against it. And at least two others, when they 
had received their invitations, accepted with alacrity 
because they had been charmed with visions of the 
possibilities of a ship’s deck in connection with some 
of the fair guests of the captain. For it must be 
understood that as long as Miss Harman seemed to 
have no choice among the men of her acquaintance 
she was unconsciously standing in the way of other 
young women with whom she associated; but as 
soon as it appeared that she had narrowed her 
affairs down to a choice between two, it was aston- 
ishing how quickly hidden beauty and loveliness 
were discovered on every hand. Clarence Gifford 
scarcely thought of Miss Harman’s beauty at all; 
his mind was on the sweet winsomeness of Mima 
Irwin; Ernest McIntyre was not conscious of a 
more rapid heart-pulse when in the presence of Miss 
Harman, but he knew that that organ fluttered most 


122 


POLLY 


ridiculously when he endeavored to converse with 
Katharine Wyckoff. 

Miss Harman and her visitor were the life of the 
party, and managed to have their own way as far as 
they themselves were concerned, but they found it 
more difficult in the other cases ; still they did much 
to keep the crowd together. There was a little sea- 
sickness that worked havoc with the party for a 
while, but most of them were good sailors and in 
possession of health and spirits. Several instances 
of insurrection and insubordination were discovered 
by the vigilant chaperons and by the self-appointed 
dictators, in the early hours of the cruise, which 
multiplied in number, though comparatively few 
individuals were involved. 

That same afternoon Clarence Gifford discovered 
Mima Irwin standing alone on the hurricane deck 
gazing off at the horizon, and yet her gaze was 
mental rather than physical, for it is doubtful if she 
would have been conscious of the approach of a full- 
sized battleship. 

“She looks mighty pretty in that natty yachting 
suit,” was Gifford’s thought as he thrust his hands 
in his pockets and strolled off in another direction. 
Presently he was pacing the hurricane deck most 
aimlessly, if appearances could be relied upon, with 
his head on his breast as if he were conscious of the 
presence of no one within a hundred miles, when 
he paused by the side of Miss Irwin. 

“Hello ! I did n’t know you were here.” 
( Shameless fellow that he was. ) 

“That means, I suppose, that if you had known it, 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


123 


you would not have come this way. You men are 
so complimentary.” 

“Now you make me tell the truth. I saw you 
standing here all alone and I could not resist the 
temptation to join you. You do n’t know how 
pretty you look in that suit, Mima! So I stole 
away in the other direction when no one was watch- 
ing and sauntered up this way as if by accident.” 

“I must confess that you got out of that nicely. 
But which am I to believe? You first say that you 
did not know that I was here, and then you insist 
that you saw me and came on purpose. Anything 
but a double-minded man!” 

“I do not call that fair, Mima ! No one is looking, 
and they all appear so sleepy and lazy down there, 
let us walk back a little in the shelter of those fun- 
nels and have a chat. If they want to sleep, let 
them; but I do not feel in that mood.” 

“No more do I. That is the reason I left them. 
I would rather be alone with nature and enjoy her 
grandeur than to sit with a poky lot of prosy people, 
even if they are my friends. Or I would rather talk 
with a man who came to me quite by accident, pro- 
vided he has a little life and sense!” 

“Come, I thought we had dropped that. Now, 
no one can see us. We will not be missed perhaps 
for an hour and we can have a beautiful chat. 
Besides, I have a fine little book in my pocket that I 
would like to read to you when we have a good 
chance.” 

“Let ’s talk first. Read when we are talked out.” 

“That suits me. By the way, what do you think 


124 


POLLY 


of Marie Harman’s edict? Does n’t she talk like a 
queen, as if she owned us all ? Why, this would be 
the dullest vacation I ever had in my life if we had 
to huddle together all the time like a flock of sheep. 
I would rather sit in my stateroom with a good 
book. Not that I do not like a jolly crowd some- 
times. But it gets tiresome in the long run. I 
think Miss Harman went a little too far.” 

“Be careful! Marie Harman is a queen, and I 
will not let any one speak against her in my pres- 
ence. I have an idea that her purpose was more 
to keep herself free from certain ones than to check 
others. You see she could do that adroitly without 
attaching suspicion to herself.” 

“Do n’t you worry about my talking against Miss 
Harman. I always did like her. I think she is a 
true woman.” 

“It is almost a wonder that you wanted to leave 
her.” 

“I should n’t, if I had not seen you. Perhaps you 
are right about her motives, and I will forgive her.” 

“I do n’t believe that some of you have been seeing 
what I have seen out of the corners of my eyes. 
Look up there back of the funnels! What do you 
see fluttering in the wind?” Miss Harman was 
wide-awake enough, though she had been leaning 
back in her chair as if half asleep. 

“Blue ribbons !” came from several at once. 

“But whose are they?” 

“Can’t say. We all seem to be here,” was McIn- 
tyre’s rejoinder. 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY’ 


125 


“No, we ’re not all here, either. Count for your- 
selves. Call the roll. I saw it all. Those rib- 
bons belong to Mima Irwin. I saw her up there all 
alone looking off into space. Presently Mr. Gifford 
left the party in an aimless sort of way and saun- 
tered off in another direction. He quite put me off 
my watch. But soon I saw he had joined her on 
the deck. And after a few moments’ conversa- 
tion they disappeared behind the funnels. I wonder 
if our chaperons are any account?” 

“Do n’t you worry about the chaperons,” Mrs. 
Bess Palmer (Van Dyke’s sister) rejoined. “I ’ll 
look after them.” And she left the party in a hurry. 

“It ’s a shame!” cried Miss Wyckoff, her face a 
little more red than the sun could account for at 
this stage of the cruise. “I saw it too, but I 
would n’t be so mean as to spoil it !” 

“It ’s all for fun, you know, and it is the law 
adopted by the party. This trip will be a failure if 
the crowd proves to be uncongenial and breaks up 
into scattered groups. Let ’s keep together !” 

In the mean time, Mrs. Palmer was approaching 
the unwary couple from the rear. When she was 
close enough she cried out with a loud voice, 

“Stop that ‘twosing’; it ’s against the law!” 

Mima Irwin rose to the occasion as she said, 

“That ’s all right, Madam Chaperon, I suppose 
you think you will have to earn your passage. I 
do n’t blame you, though personally I would hate to 
be a chaperon, unless I were old and sour. But 
you ’ll have to make your crowd more lively than it 


126 


POLLY 


has been ever since we started if you want to keep 
us from ‘twosing.’ We both of us left the crowd 
because you were so dull, and met here quite by acci- 
dent. As we looked down upon you all half asleep 
we could not help laughing at you. We came back 
here to get shelter from the wind, did n’t we, Mr. 
Gifford?” 

“Why, of course ; every one knows that the wind 
tans worse than the sun, and you know it ’s blowing 
great guns this afternoon.” 

“How observant you are, indeed, Mr. Gifford. 
The sailing-master just informed us that if we were 
a sailing craft we would be becalmed,” was Mrs. 
Palmer’s sarcastic rejoinder as she led her “chil- 
dren,” as she called them, back to the crowd. They 
all had a good laugh at the culprits’ expense as the 
heartless chaperon published their excuses. 

It was not more than an hour later when Miss 
Wyckoff excused herself, on the ground that she 
wanted to lie down. The swell made her feel a 
little uncertain, she averred, and she wanted to fight 
off seasickness if she could. An hour later, when 
they were about to divide up for one of the deck 
games, Ernest McIntyre was missing. Searchers 
were sent out at once, who came back with the 
tidings that Mr. McIntyre and Miss Wyckoff had 
been discovered looking down from the stern of the 
ship engaged in conversation. Mrs. Palmer was 
again selected to bring back the recalcitrants. 
When they returned Miss Harman innocently asked, 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


127 


“I hope you are feeling better, Miss Wyckoff. 
Did you have a nice nap ?” 

“No, I did not get to sleep. I threw myself on 
the berth for a while, but was too restless to remain. 
I started for a little stroll and deep breathings when 
I happened to meet Mr. McIntyre back there. He 
was just asking very solicitously after my well- 
being when our charming chaperon arrived on the 
scene to announce a game^of shuffle-board. It was 
kind of you not to leave us out. I adore shuffle- 
board !” 

“You ’ll do for a lawyer, Miss Wyckoff,” Parsons 
responded. “When I get into a tight place, I will 
know whom to employ for an advocate. That is, 
if you are as successful in the cases of outsiders as 
you are in your own. You would have convinced 
any jury on earth just now of your innocence.” 

“Innocence? I was not even aware of a charge 
of guilt, Mr. Parsons. In our country we are not 
put on trial without a full knowledge of the charge. 
What is my crime, pray tell ?” 

“Twosing,” said all at once. 

In spite of the vigilance of the chaperons and 
the watchfulness of some others it was not possible 
to keep them all together all the time. And there 
are many delightful retreats on a steamer’s decks. 
Clarence Gifford and Ernest McIntyre had fully 
purposed in their hearts what they would do, before 
sailing, and they were successful in spite of diffi- 
culties, for before the end of the cruise two engage- 
ments were formally announced at a little party held 
for the purpose one night in the saloon of the ship — 


128 


POLLY 


Mima Irwin and Clarence Gifford, Katharine 
Wyckoff and Ernest McIntyre. Another couple 
had been more discreet or more sly, or the citadel 
of the young lady’s heart had been harder to cap- 
ture, but the engagement of Effie Gauntt and Irving 
Von Tyler was announced two months later. This 
summer’s outing proved itself to be of great moment 
in the lives of some of the party, but not in the way 
planned by the host. 

Van Dyke employed all his powers to do as he 
knew some of the others were doing. Parsons soon 
saw the situation and ceased any but the most desul- 
tory efforts to enjoy a tete a tete with his fair 
charmer. While Miss Harman, with Miss Ham- 
line as a confederate, managed all the way through, 
by kindly tact, to make first one and then the other 
feel that his rival was having everything his own 
way. There was a great deal of fun in this game, 
to be sure, but it was a little wearing, and both 
young women heaved sighs of relief when they 
settled down to ordinary society life at Bar Harbor. 

When the gangplank was out at the end of the 
cruise, exactly fifteen said that they had never en- 
joyed themselves so much in their lives — and they 
meant all they said. Two young men said all 
sorts of nice things in society’s language, the one as 
guest and the other as host, as was expected of them, 
but down underneath it all these two voted the 
whole affair a failure. 

When the fall came and Miss Harman was back 
home again she discovered that the play that had 


THE CRUISE OF “THE SPRAY” 


129 


engaged her attention on board The Spray would be 
continued on land. The rivalry between the two 
young men was as mad as ever. On any occasion 
when both her admirers were present, each felt cer- 
tain, at the close, that the other had gained all the 
advantage. 

Now, as the Christmas season approached with 
all its festivities, Van Dyke was compelled to 
acknowledge to himself that never by word or ges- 
ture or glance had the young lady given him reason 
to believe or hope that she held him in higher esteem 
than others. He was piqued and yet he was com- 
pelled to laugh as he thought it over. “It has been 
the best year of my life, if nothing comes of it. 
Things have n’t been so horribly dull. I ’ve renewed 
my youth and discovered that the world still has 
things in it worth living for. And a fellow can ’t 
help being a better man after having been thrown 
with such a girl as that. If nothing more ever 
comes of it than making me brace up and take a 
new start in life I suppose it is worth all my disap- 
pointment and heartaches !” 

He was right. There is little doubt that the year 
of energy and determination saved him from almost^ 
certain failure in life. From this on he began to 
exhibit signs of energy in business, and to make 
himself count in the great organization which his 
father had established and of which he was still the 
head. 

Parsons likewise looked squarely in the face of 
9 


130 


POLLY 


conditions and acknowledged to himself that there 
was no perceptible difference in his relations to Miss 
Harman. He was a steadier and better man, of 
that he was conscious. He saw life differently. 

About this time Parson’s reportorial duties 
brought him into contact with Dillon Judson. It 
would have been difficult to find two young men 
more diametrically opposed to each other in person- 
ality than these two, yet for some unaccountable 
reason a fast friendship sprang up between them. 
There is some psychological law which often makes 
persons totally different get along with each other 
in a perfectly harmonious fashion. This fact is 
especially noticeable in matrimonial alliances. No 
person is perfect or complete in himself. The one 
with whom he is to pair ought not to duplicate his 
characteristics, but to supplement them, so that the 
sum total of the characteristics of the two may ap- 
proximate reasonable perfection, or make them 
together one complete whole. Whatever the rea- 
son, these two young men “mixed,” and they in- 
fluenced each other favorably. Judson gradually 
became more sociable in his tendencies. Parsons 
began to cease “burning his candle at both ends” as 
his society relations had tempted him to do; he 
became more scrupulous in his dealings with the 
public ; he learned gradually to appreciate the truth 
more perfectly; in time, he even began to be relig- 
ious, according to the laws of his own personality. 
Where one was conscious of evil in his nature or 
habits he made it a point, in that, not to influence his 
friend. Thus each was profited by the friendship 
and neither was injured thereby. 


CHAPTER XIII 


MARIE) HARMAN AS ANGE^ 

Marie Harman had lost her mother several years 
before the events here narrated. Her father had 
not remarried and his daughter was the idol of his 
heart — “so much like her mother.” A maiden sis- 
ter, many years younger than the head of the house, 
had been installed as mistress. 

Aunt Hettie was not an “old maid” in the general 
acceptation of that term. She had passed a bright 
and beautiful girlhood and in her early womanhood 
had become engaged to a young clergyman of rare 
beauty of character and unusual gifts. But on the 
eve of the day fixed for the wedding typhoid fever 
had carried him away. It was a severe shock to the 
young woman, but she did not once show the white 
feather. The result upon her character was like the 
refiner’s fire upon gold. Physically, her hair was 
prematurely white, but "her face remained fair and 
calm. Life had been a stern master but she had 
learned her lessons well. No one could have filled 
the breach in the home made by the death of the 
mother better than Hester , Harman. Marie loved 
her devotedly and a bond of sympathy and under- 
standing existed between them that was rare and 
beautiful. 

The winter was spoiled for these two women by 
the sudden call of the head of the family to England, 
a trip they declined to share with him because of the 


132 


POLLY 


discomfort and general unpleasantness of a winter’s 
passage across the Atlantic. As a result of her 
summer and fall’s battles Marie was weary of 
society, and her father’s unexpected departure gave 
her a fit of something that resembled the “blues,” a 
disease to which heretofore she had been a complete 
stranger. She had about concluded to leave it all 
for a season, and was consulting with her aunt and 
companion in reference to a journey South, when 
the arrival of a letter from her father gave her 
something to do and a great deal to think about. 
It closed : 

“By the way, I forgot to tell you that the little 
hoy who called Christmas morning zvas the son of 
my old friend Donald McDonald McLean , who fell , 
lost all that he had, and finally died. He seemed to 
sink out of existence for a while and I did not know 
of his death till the hoy revealed the fact to me along 
with that of the. family's destitution. I made room 
in the store for the manly little fellow as parcels-hoy, 
and was planning to take in the older brother some- 
zvhere, and thus help that most excellent zooman 
their mother, zuhen my sudden call interrupted and 
displaced the whole matter for a while. Now, Mr. 
Arnold writes that the hoy did not show up, and has 
enclosed a letter from the mother setting forth the 
fact of the sudden death of the hoy and of a little 
girl also. Somehow I can not shake the matter 
from my mind. I wish you and Aunt Hettie would 
look into the affair. They live on Blacksly street, 
Arnold will tell you just where. But whatever you 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


133 


do, be careful, it ’s a horrid street. Do not permit 
Mrs. McLean to suffer. I will write Arnold con- 
cerning the eldest boy. See what an unusually long 
letter these McLeans have inspired me to writer 

Marie’s sympathies were touched, the trip South 
was lost sight of, life seemed to gather some rosy 
tints and presented itself once more as worth the 
living. She was tenderhearted in the extreme, and 
all her instincts were in the direction of helping “to 
make the awful sum of human sorrow less,” not in 
any theatrical or high-strung fashion, but simply 
and from the heart. Aunt Hettie was like her in 
this, hence on the day the letter came they held a 
consultation and decided to take the plainest car- 
riage at their command and investigate. 

Driving first to the store, these two philanthro- 
pists called for Mr. Arnold, who hunted up the 
address and, as Mr. Harman had privately in- 
structed him, offered to accompany them. He had 
taken the additional precaution to notify the police 
department of their intended visit. He had a well- 
defined horror of the place himself and did not 
intend that the ladies should be insulted and 
alarmed. Consequently, when they drove into the 
street a few doors above the tenement house in 
which Mrs. McDean was making her home, a police- 
man could be seen carelessly leaning against the 
corner as if his only purpose in life was to hold that 
corner securely in position. Mr. Arnold was re- 
lieved, for he was a nervous man and not in pos- 
session of the best of health. Making inquiry upon 


134 


POLLY 


the ground floor, the three began to climb the dirty, 
rickety steps, and at length stood knocking at the 
desired apartment. 

Mrs. McLean herself answered the summons to 
the door, with Polly by her side. It was a sad 
sweet face that looked out upon the guests, but the 
welcome was genuine, with quiet dignity, and all 
the graces of one accustomed to move in the best 
society. 

“Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. 
McLean?” inquired Marie. 

“I am she; whom have I the honor of greeting?” 
the little woman holding open the door the while 
with a graceful gesture of welcome that spoke more 
emphatically than articulate invitation could have 
done. The plain little room into which they were 
ushered, with its cheap and meager furniture, was 
scrupulously clean, with every sign of taste and re- 
finement in its arrangement. 

Marie was the spokesman; she felt in her sub- 
consciousness, without reasoning it out, that this 
was her mission, and Aunt Hettie was so sympa- 
thetic with the younger woman that she did not feel 
for a moment that her own place had been usurped, 
and Mr. Arnold was very glad, for the time, that he 
had been forgotten. 

“This is my aunt, Miss Harman, and I am Marie 
Harman, the daughter of Mr. Harrison Harman;” 
and catching a glimpse of Mr. Arnold from the 
corner of her eye, she continued her introductions, 
“and permit me also to present Mr. Arnold, a con- 
fidential business friend of my father’s.” 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


135 


“I am sure I am delighted to welcome you to my 
home.” She did not think of making apology for 
it. Why should she? It was her home through 
no fault of hers and these were her guests, and that 
was all there was about it. She was infinitely 
above feeling shame for what she could not help. 
It is doubtful if she even thought of the situation in 
that light at all. When she had been in the best of 
circumstances she had never felt the necessity of 
apologizing for them, and she could not feel that 
poverty in itself was the foundation for a better 
reason for apology. So she continued without 
break, “I remember Mr. Harman distinctly. He 
used to be a friend of Mr. McLean’s* and was not 
infrequently at my house. I am delighted to know 
his sister and daughter, and — friend.” 

Mrs. McLean spoke briskly and with animation 
in her voice, but a close observer could have noted 
the marks of suffering on her face. 

“And this is my little daughter Miranda Jean, 
better known by everybody as Polly ; and here come 
my precious twins, Hattie and Alexander — just as 
full of mischief as they can be, but very dear to 
their mama and Polly.” It was strange and amus- 
ing too, to note how Mrs. McLean unconsciously 
referred to Polly as if she were older than the twins. 
She was older in her ways. 

The little folks prettily acknowledged these pres- 
entations, as they had been taught, as became na- 
tural children — Alexander a little shyly, though all 
the while looking up into the face of the beautiful 


136 


POLLY 


lady, from the winsome attractiveness of which he 
could not turn away. 

“And have you not another child, a big boy — 
Donald ?” innocently inquired Miss Marie. “Miss 
Harman and I came to see you especially, but I am 
very sure that Mr. Arnold would be glad to see 
Donald on business — would you not, Mr. Arnold ?” 

The gentleman addressed had time only to bow 
his head in acquiescence, while the maiden, so full 
of her subject and so eager to come to the point, has- 
tened on, not discovering the look of anguish on her 
hostess’s face. 

“I am afraid that you do not know that my 
father was summoned suddenly and unexpectedly to 
England on urgent business immediately after 
Christmas. His departure was so sudden that he 
naturally forgot many things that had been on his 
mind and in which he had particular interest, among 
others your dear little boy’s appointment. Mr. 
Arnold forwarded your note of thanks and explana- 
tion to England, for he knew that my father had 
taken a personal interest in this case, the details of 
which he had not imparted to his confidential ad- 
viser. Father has communicated with Mr. Arnold 
and myself both, explaining the situation and ex- 
pressing his regrets for his absent-mindedness, and 
desiring us to see you. I am sure Mr. Arnold will 
be able to help Donald to help himself, and I do so 
want to have a talk with you — and Aunt Hettie 
does too.” 

Poor little woman! She was unable to contain 
herself longer, and broke down completely at this 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


137 


moment, and wept as she had not been able to do 
for many days. Marie was terrified, for she did not 
know what mischief she had done nor how she had 
done it. She had been careful in her references to 
the little ones who had died lest she might open old 
wounds, and after all her care the deed was done ! 

After a little time Mrs. McLean was able to 
control herself sufficiently to say in broken accents, 

“Oh! my dear Miss Marie, do not feel bad con- 
cerning my tears, I could not contain them and 
they have proved a blessing to me already. You 
see my heart has never healed, and I knew you did 
not know my latest sorrow ; and you were so 
sweetly and unconsciously touching it all the time 
that when I endeavored to tell you I was simply 
overwhelmed by the flood I was unable to control. 
Our dear boy Donald, after the burial of our little 
ones, went out to seek work, carrying that letter of 
mine to your father, which your presence to-day 
proves he delivered. But he did not return and 
from that day to this I have not heard one word of 
him nor seen a single trace, and it has been nearly 
a month. It weighs on me day and night, so that, 
if it were not for my sweet comforter Polly, I know 
I would lose my mind. Perhaps you can imagine 
my fears and torture of soul.” 

“Have you enlisted the help of the police?” 
inquired Mr. Arnold. 

“Oh, yes; when he failed to come home that 
night, I notified the police and they promised to do 
what they could, and I have repeatedly consulted 


138 


POLLY 


them since, but they have given me nothing in the 
way of comfort.” 

Mr. Arnold took his note-book from his pocket 
and immediately began to write rapidly, asking 
questions the while as to the exact time of the boy’s 
disappearance, his age, a fair description of his 
appearance, and all things that ought to be known 
in order to find him. He then excused himself, as- 
suring his ladies that there could not be any danger, 
since the carriage was awaiting them and the blue- 
coated guardian of the peace was on the corner. 
His purpose was to go at once to the firm’s lawyer 
and, through his knowledge and skill, engage the 
best experts to work on the case. He knew that he 
would be representing Mr. Harman in doing all in 
his power to solve this mystery. 

The ladies remained, and by degrees discovered 
that the little family were in direst need of the 
simplest necessities of life; that the mother by the 
greatest economy had been able to keep the flock 
together thus far, but her resources were entirely 
exhausted and she did not know which way to turn. 
Just before the arrival of the callers she had been 
on her knees with the children praying for assist- 
ance. 

Aunt Hettie now became the spokesman. 

“Mrs. McLean, we want to have a simple under- 
standing with you. We know enough of your life 
and former circumstances to guess how hard this 
situation must be, and the furthest thing from our 
minds is to make you feel that you are on charity. 
But you must live and you must keep these children 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


139 


alive, and you must be ready for Donald when he 
comes. Hence there are certain necessities that you 
must have and you must have them at once. I have 
a feeling that your future is going to be bright and 
the only difficulty is to tide yourself over the present. 
Your boy will come back and with his help you may 
settle old accounts in any way or at any time that 
seems good to you, we will leave that all with you. 
I am now going to take a list of your present neces- 
sities and get them N to you as soon as I can. No, 
Mrs. McLean, please do not say a word now till I 
have finished!” And taking from her waist her 
celluloid tablets she began to write. 

Next, Aunt Hettie insisted on taking the carriage 
to attend to the matters of prime importance at once, 
leaving orders to be filled here and there, and bring- 
ing some things back with her in the carriage. As 
a result of this arrangement Miss Marie was left 
alone with the family till the carriage should return, 
and this was the thing she wanted above everything 
else; for she was charmed with the sweet little 
woman who had borne such a burden of sorrow, and 
Polly was a revelation and a delight to her. 

“I ’ll tell you what, Mrs. McLean, when the car- 
riage comes back you get into it with us and leave 
this horrid street at once and forever. I do not 
see any good reason why you should remain here 
one hour longer. I can not conceive how you have 
been able to endure it at all. I should think you 
would have lost your mind.” 

“Thank you, Miss Marie, for that sweet offer, but 
I am sure you will see it as I do — that it would be 


140 


POLLY 


simply impossible at present. When my boy Don- 
ald returns — and Polly says he will — he will natur- 
ally come to this spot, and of course I want him to 
find me here. Think what a shock it would be if 
he came back and found me gone! I know he has 
had sorrows and troubles beyond measure; when 
he returns I want them all to cease immediately. 
In regard to this place — well, I have grown accus- 
tomed to it and its inhabitants and I am free to con- 
fess that I feel differently now from what I felt 
before I came. You do not know anybody till you 
live with them. I did not know this class of people 
till I came and got into their homes, and saw what 
they saw, and felt what they felt, and suffered what 
they suffered. It ’s all different now, these are my 
friends. I find they all have human hearts with 
very tender spots in them. It is true that in some 
cases they have been covered up so long that it was 
difficult to find them and to get at them, but they 
are there. And how tender and kind and consid- 
erate they have been to us in our trouble! You 
would not be able to find anywhere greater or truer 
delicacy than here. I believe somehow on an in- 
finitesimally small scale my coming to this street has 
been in kind, not in degree, like the coming of 
Christ to earth. He had a beautiful home and a 
loving heart. He knew his Father’s creatures and 
pitied them and wanted to save them, but, I say it 
reverently, He did not know the situation till He 
assumed their flesh and came and lived among them, 
feeling as they felt, suffering as they suffered. In 
order to understand these people I had to become 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


141 


one of them. And in spite of my sufferings and 
poverty, I feel already that I can thank God for the 
experienced 

“Mrs. McLean, you are a wonder. But you are 
right I know. I can see very plainly why you 
would not want to leave this place now; but you 
certainly might consent to come and visit us, we 
would be so happy to have you.” 

“After my boy returns, with joy, but not 
before — he might come while I was out.” 

“Forgive my thoughtless and selfish importunity, 
Mrs. McLean. I am sure you will permit me to 
take Polly and the other children sometimes ; it will 
be a blessed change for them.” 

“I should be very happy to let them go, if it 
pleases you.” 

At that moment some one knocked at the door. 
The request was that Mrs. McLean come down- 
stairs at once to see what was the matter with one of 
Mrs. Murphy’s twins. Mrs. McLean excused her- 
self for a moment and hurried out, leaving Marie 
alone with the children. Harriette and Alexander 
were entirely absorbed in a book from which they 
were reading together, but Polly had never once 
removed her attention from her beautiful guest. 
The moment her mama left the room, she boldly 
walked up to the young woman, and putting her 
arm around her, said, 

“May I kiss you?” 

“Of course you may, you dear.” 

“Well, I just want to. I wish I were a man!” 

“Why do you wish anything so foolish as that?” 


,142 


POLLY 


“Then I would marry you and have you for my 
very own all the time. Do you believe in angels ?” 

“Why, yes, I think I do. The Bible speaks of 
them. I am not quite sure that I think of them with 
wings as some artists paint them.” 

“No more do I. Why, an angel would not want 
wings. They would be in the way. They do not 
need them. It ’s this way — an angel can go just like 
our thoughts can go. Every night when I go to 
bed I just think myself back in the country, and 
there I am back in the dear little house where we 
were all so happy; and then I drop asleep and 
dream all night of the lovely place, and in the morn- 
ing I wake up fresh and bright for the work of the 
day, which is mostly making Muzzer believe that 
Donald will come back, because I have had a lovely 
time in the country, a regular holiday all night. 
Now I believe that angels can go like that whenever 
and wherever they want. Do you know that I have 
often pictured angels in my mind till I sometimes 
think that I would know one if I should meet one? 
And I always think of angels as ladies, I can’t think 
of a man angel. Do you know what my picture of 
an angel is like?” 

“No, little lady, I have no idea in the world what 
your sweet thoughts have pictured.” 

“Why, ever since you have been here I have been 
thinking of angels. You are just exactly like my 
pictures. Are you an angel ?” 

“No, dear girlie, I am not an angel — far from it; 
but you are one if ever there was one on earth. 
And how sweet and original are your thoughts con- 


MARIE HARMAN AS ANGEL 


143 


cerning them! And what a little philosopher you 
are to refresh yourself in thought and dream for the 
burdens and trials of life! The world would be so 
much brighter if others knew your secret.” 

Polly was busy thinking about angels and 
scarcely heard Miss Marie’s remarks. At least she 
did not recognize the compliment in them, and hence 
was in no danger of being spoiled by it. 

“What are angels, anyway ?” 

“Let me see ; angels are messengers — God’s mes- 
sengers, sent by Him on errands of mercy and love.” 

“I knew it, I knew it!” cried Polly in a perfect 
ecstasy of joy, while she clapped her hands in glee. 
“I knew it, Miss Marie. You are an angel and 
do n’t know it. You are beautiful and lovely and 
God sent you here on an errand of love and mercy 
this afternoon, because we asked Him to. You are 
an angel ; I know it, I know it !” 

At that moment Mrs. McLean entered, laughing. 

“One of Mrs. Murphy’s twins was in a dreadful 
condition and they did not know what was the mat- 
ter. I soon discovered a shoe-button lodged in its 
tiny turned-up nose, and by making a surgical in- 
strument of a hairpin, I had it out in a moment, and 
I was compelled to run away to escape the vocifer- 
ous and hearty thanks of mama Murphy, who said 
I was an angel.” 

Miss Marie and Polly burst out laughing at the 
mention of angel, and there would have been expla- 
nations if Aunt Hettie had not entered at that mo- 
ment with her arms full of packages. The twins 
were sent down to the carriage to bring up every- 


144 


POLLY 


thing that was left. They soon returned heavily 
laden. Then there were so many shouts and ex- 
clamations that in the confusion the two ladies were 
glad to excuse themselves and run away. 

When they were seated in the carriage and had 
time to think they both expressed their deep sorrow 
for the poor little mother with such a tremendous 
burden of grief resting upon her, and their surprise 
at the marvelous way in which she bore it all. 

“I have never seen anything like it,” continued 
Miss Marie. “I did not think I would ever enjoy 
what the society girls call ‘slumming’; but if this 
is what they mean, I like it. I am sure I have re- 
ceived more real benefit to-day than I have often 
received from a dozen sermons. Yes, and I feel bet- 
ter physically, too. No headache, no tired feeling. 
I have something to live for now. Hurrah!” 


CHAPTER XIV 


DREAM 

Mr. Arnold brooked no delay in the work of put- 
ting in motion the machinery that was to find Don- 
ald McLean and bring him home. With the charac- 
teristic business energy that had made him impor- 
tant to the house of Harman, Greaves & Harman, 
he entered into the solving of this mystery. He 
knew what Mr. Harman would have done and he 
acted for him. Lawyers, detectives, police, news- 
papers, and many other agencies were brought into 
requisition. It was discovered that while the police 
had taken up the case on the request of Mrs. Mc- 
Lean they had made little progress. It was no new 
thing to have some one missing from Blacksly 
street, hence the affair had not impressed them as it 
might have done had the word come from a differ- 
ent quarter. When they understood Mrs. McLean’s 
situation and that the great house of Harman, 
Greaves & Harman was interested, they became 
more active in the work. But much time had been 
lost. 

The visit of the ladies to the tenement house had 
been like a ray of sunshine. Polly was jubilant. 
She danced for joy. She fairly beamed on the fam- 
ily. She kept contending, without any one ever de- 
nying her proposition, that Miss Marie was an angel 
and that Miss Harman was an auntie angel! She 

IO 


146 


POLLY 


was more positive than ever that good times were 
coming — that Donald would return. Her spirits, 
as usual, were infectious, and soon the twins were 
dancing too, an amusement in which they were con- 
stantly indulging after their own fashion. Mrs. 
McLean caught the contagion and was brighter and 
happier than she had been since her little ones had 
died. She said that Miss Marie reminded her of 
the maid Aura Lee in the old song, 

“‘Aura Lee, Aura Lee, maid of golden hair, 

Sunshine came along with thee and swallows in the air.’ ” 

The residents of Blacksly street, and of the tene- 
ment especially, soon became accustomed to see the 
carriage, and it was not long before they began to 
feel a species of pride and ownership. These ladies 
who called were friends of their Mrs. McLean — on 
good terms with her — they were her kind of people. 
Hence, while they scowled at the equipages of the 
rich generally, they smiled with conscious pride 
when they saw this one, for they instinctively knew 
the difference in the kind of people carried. After 
all, they seemed to reason, it is not so much the car- 
riage itself as the people who ride in the carriage. 
If all the rich people were like those who came in 
that carriage things would not be so bad. 

“Friendly visitors,” as we have seen, is a term 
coined by the modern school of scientific charities. 
It means two things — that the cases of the poor are 
investigated, the worthy ones being helped, while 
the unworthy, whose name is legion, are unmasked, 
the constant effort being to restore the unfortunate 


DREAM 


147 


to self-support and independence, and at the same 
time, that, through their instrumentality, the gen- 
eral public is educated up to the high position 
taken by this new school. In too many cities 
the members of this school are far in advance 
of the average citizen, from whom they get little 
encouragement and less sympathy — the average citi- 
zen preferring to go alone and blindly in his chari- 
ties, confirming the pauper habit in multitudes who 
are capable of something better. Hence, ‘‘friendly 
visitors” are wanted and encouraged to go out on 
regular districts. But there are certain requisites — 
sympathy, tact, common sense, self-forgetfulness. 
The object is to win the sympathy and confidence of 
the lowly, that they may be helped in the truest and 
most permanent manner. Often irreparable damage 
is done to the cause by a lack of one or more of 
these essential characteristics on the part of the 
would-be “friendly visitor.” A noble young woman, 
the head of a settlement house in one of our large 
cities, was called to the telephone recently. One of 
society’s most brilliant young ladies was at the other 
end, a member of the leading woman’s club of the 

place. “Oh, Miss T , is that you? Four of us 

are coming around this afternoon at three o’clock 
to go slumming with you in a carriage, if you will 
take us.” “Never! in that spirit,” was the reply. 
“You do this out of curiosity and because it is a fad, 
and because you want to be up to date in things 
sociological ; but you must not do it, you will undo 
the work of months if you come in that spirit. We 
need help. Come one or two at a time in the spirit 


148 


POLLY 


of love and helpfulness, take regular districts. But 
pray do not come in the spirit of faddism !” 

The people of Blacksly street had had their share 
of this sort of thing — the wealthy coming down 
upon them without sympathy, * with an air of su- 
periority, as if these were beings of a lower world, 
and not of flesh and blood similar to their own. 
How they would gather their skirts about them as 
if they feared contamination ! But these lowly peo- 
ple were wise and they recognized Mrs. McLean as 
the “real thing,” and they included the Harman 
ladies in the same classification, though they were 
dressed according to the dictates of modern fashion 
and came and went in a carriage. 

Polly was all wrapped up in Miss Marie, as she 
always called her, and made frequent trips with her 
to the Harman mansion. Miss Marie, on her part, 
always enjoyed a treat on these occasions, for Pol- 
ly’s old ways and quaint, though often blunt, say- 
ings and hopeful spirits were all refreshing, es- 
pecially to one who was weary of many of the com- 
monplaces of fashionable society. 

It had not been more than two weeks prior to the 
incidents of the last chapter that Polly had met Jud- 
son for the first time. Mrs. McLean had never 
talked to him concerning her poverty, and he had 
been out of town for several days and could not, on 
that account, have seen the climax of their distress, 
if it had been visible. As we have seen, she was 
$oon on the best of terms with the young reporter 


BREAM 


149 


and exceedingly fond of him. On the other hand, 
nothing pleased Judson more than to sit and listen 
to the quaint sayings of the little girl, some of which 
have already been recorded, as Judson’s history was 
traced up to the point where we now find the various 
streams of this narrative running together. After a 
few meetings with Miss Marie, the little girl had a 
new subject for her conversations, and she never 
grew weary of telling him of her beautiful friend, 
of her winsomeness and goodness, and Judson soon 
became equally fond of listening to the praises of 
this wonderful woman. Sometimes he would 
adroitly open the way for her favorite topic, and 
then settle himself to listen to the descriptions of a 
being, certainly not of this world — indeed Polly 
had more than once insisted that she was an angel. 
To the young man they were like fairy-tales told in 
the sweet simplicity of winsome childhood — when 
the imagination is fresh and untarnished ; when the 
communion with the unseen world is constant and 
natural; before the sad discovery is made that the 
things held most dear and in which faith is the 
strongest, are naught; before self-consciousness 
settles down like a pall to stifle the little child of 
heaven, till in the agony of its contortions it comes 
forth a common child of earth ! 

One day, while listening, his own childhood came 
up before him, and its fairy-tales, and one in par- 
ticular. 

Once upon a time a little boy, while investigating 
the things of nature, as children will, came upon a 
great tree with a hollow in its side like a little win- 


150 


POLLY 


dow. Putting his head in the opening and peering 
down into its dim depths, he discovered, when his 
eyes grew accustomed to the half-light, a miniature 
bed, and upon it three tiny girl fairies asleep. He 
picked them up, one at a time, and admired them, 
but when he picked up the third one he discovered 
that she was so wonderfully beautiful that his little 
boy’s heart yearned over her, and before he knew 
what he was doing, he raised the little thing to his 
lips and kissed it. Straightway the fairy was trans- 
formed by the kiss into a little human girl of such 
rare beauty and loveliness that the two were knit 
together in a never-dying love, and they grew up 
together never to be separated as long as they lived. 
The boy Judson, by some trick of his imagination, 
had put himself ever into the place of the little hero 
of the story, and for years he firmly believed that 
the little human fairy was somewhere in existence 
for him. While he outgrew the childhood’s fancy 
he never quite overcame its influence over him. It 
had kept him, strange to say, perfectly free from the 
drawing power of the opposite sex. The thought 
that somewhere there was a lady for him, growing 
as he grew, transcending all the rest in beauty of 
face and character, made him totally indifferent to 
those with whom he came in contact. Often when 
he would discover himself under the spell of the old 
dream, he would laugh at what he called his super- 
stition, but in his subconsciousness it was ever pres- 
ent and controlling. 

Now as the little girl enthusiastically described 
her friend, Judson would lean back and close his 


DREAM 


151 


eyes, and see with the inner vision the fairy-human 
child, grown tall. He delighted to put himself un- 
der this spell. It was his only dissipation. It was 
like being able to make himself a child again. One 
day Polly said, 

“Oh, Mr. Judson, I do n’t think I ’ve made you 
believe the best thing about Miss Marie, though I 
guess I ’ve told you often enough. She ’s an angel. 
She looks like the pictures of the angels I always see 
when I shut my eyes and think of them. Then she 
is one, for she is a messenger of God to answer 
prayers, in love and mercy. Then her voice is so 
soft and sweet, and musical too, and when she 
laughs, it ’s like — it ’s like — what is it like ? — it ’s 
like — the noise my little spring by the hillside used 
to make in the country. Then she ’s good, though 
she denies it up and down; she ’s good and do n’t 
know it, I guess. I think that ’s the best kind of 
goodness after all, do n’t you, Mr. Judson? I 
think knowing it often spoils it, do n’t you ?” 

Judson certainly thought so, and Polly rattled on, 
much to the young man’s delight. She often made 
him talk too. She was politely inquisitive — not 
prying, like many rude children, from an abnormal 
curiosity, but truly interested in everything con- 
nected in any way with one she loved. She grad- 
ually learned that her Mr. Judson was like Miss 
Marie, in one respect — he was good and did n’t know 
it. She finally got him to tell her of the young 
drunkard he was endeavoring to help save; of the 
poor consumptive, no longer able to work, he was 
supporting; of the gambler who, being unable to 


152 


POLLY 


resist the appetite, had prayed Judson to help him 
save himself ; of the baby he had saved from drown- 
ing, an account of which, by his personal influence 
with the reporters, he had kept from the papers; of 
the way in which he had forgiven a trick that a man 
had endeavored to play on him for the purpose of 
ruining him, had forgiven so completely that he was 
able to do a kindness when it was most sorely 
needed, without an effort, and with no thoughts of 
“the coals of fire” even. Mrs. McLean sometimes 
adroitly helped Polly in this species of news-gath- 
ering. She began to marvel at the depth and 
breadth and strength and sweetness of this poor 
country boy who had come to the city all alone and 
without influence, and that he had been able to make 
a glorious man of himself. Mother and daughter 
were conspirators, unconscious of their conspiracy, 
to learn all they could of his nobleness and gentle- 
ness. He was all unused to talking of himself, and 
it required the combined skill and adroitness of the 
two,* through weeks of effort, to learn the little he 
was willing to divulge. Then much care was 
needed, when they were alone, to put these things 
together. 

Polly was not one-sided in the work she was 
doing. When she was with Judson, her favorite 
occupation was to talk of Miss Marie; but when 
she was with the latter, she was just as eager to sing 
the praises of Mr. Judson. One day she said, 

“Up next to Mr. Judson’s room there ’s another 
room, and there ’s a sick man in it — Bob, they call 
him — and he ’s got the consumption. He can’t 


DREAM 


153 


work any more, and he coughs and looks so thin, 
and he ’s got no mama nor papa nor friends. He 
used to be a newspaper man too, but he spent all his 
money and did lots of things he ought n’t to do ; and 
I do n’t know what would have happened, I guess 
he ’d a gone to the poor-house, but Mr. Judson took 
him and hired the room for him, and pays for all 
his board and doctors and lots of things. He sits 
with him and reads to him and talks to him; yes, 
and sometimes he reads the Bible to him and prays, 
not like they do in church, but nice little talks with 
God, as if he knew Him and as if he believed He 
was right there. I ’ve been with him a couple of 
times and heard him. Yes, and he ’s got a nurse 
now, too, to help.” And so she chattered on. 

Another time she said, 

“There was an awful mean man up at the news- 
paper store. He hated Mr. Judson for just noth- 
ing at all, except that he was jealous of him, and he 
worked up something against him that was as mean 
as dirt. I do n’t quite understand how it all came 
about, but they tried to tell stories on him and make 
people hate him. I know Mr. Judson felt awfully 
about it and he said they wanted to get Mr. Stryker 
to discharge him. Oh, I do hope they won’t !” 

“Then, there ’s a dear little office-boy up there, 
and one day Mr. Judson found him crying, so he 
throws his arms around him and says, ‘What ’s the 
matter, my boy ?’ And the boy says, ‘Me mother ’s 
sick and can’t tend the children nor git dinner, and 
me father died last month.’ Mr. Judson had a little 
time, and what did he do but run around and sweep 


154 


POLLY 


and get dinner, and then he hunted up a nice young 
girl to help around till the mother got well, and he 
paid for it all himself, and he said he got more than 
his money’s worth out of that kind of thing. Then 
the poor little office-boy had n’t money enough 
anyhow. Well, this dear little fellow was so happy 
that he loves Mr. Judson as hard as anything, and 
he tells him that he will get even with him the first 
chance he gets, for he is not the man to forget a 
favor. 

“Miss Marie, I could tell you lots of things like 
that and never get tired, for Mr. Judson ’s just the 
dearest man in all the world, and I love him, I do !” 


CHAPTER XV 


THS “M£AN MAN’S” PI*0T 

There was a “mean man” and his name was Mar- 
tin, and he did hate Mr. Judson “just for nothing at 
all,” except that he was mean and of an exceedingly 
jealous disposition. If any man was promoted in 
the establishment it hurt him, as if he had received 
a personal injury; if he heard any one speak well 
of an absent person, he was certain to have some- 
thing to say to counteract it, at least he would say 
something by way of innuendo, which was far 
worse, because there was no truth in it, yet it left 
the listener to believe that it was something so bad 
that even Mr. Martin was unwilling to say it aloud. 
This man had quite a following of “friends,” like- 
minded, of whom he was the natural leader, and for 
whom he was thinker and spokesman; for while 
they were made of the same material, they did not 
possess the same spunk. They would think evil 
things concerning their associates, and sometimes 
they would say them, but when it came to doing 
them, they had to come to Martin for orders, for he 
was the active member of the combination. Most 
of these men were disgruntled fellows who had a 
grievance, or thought they had, against some of 
their associates, or the management, or things in 
general as they existed, from “principle.” 

Mr. Stryker had not come to the office yet. 


156 


POLLrir 


Everything was dark and desolate, for it was a dark 
afternoon. No one was in sight except Martin, 
who was walking restlessly to and fro, stopping fre- 
quently to listen, as if he were awaiting some one. 
And so indeed he was. A meeting had been ap- 
pointed and he, as usual on such occasions, was a 
little ahead, and the others, likewise “as usual,” 
were a little behind. But none of them was very 
late when at last they were all together, expectancy 
written on their faces, close to the glass door that 
opened into Stryker's sanctum sanctorum. They 
are speaking in muffled voices, yet some one whis- 
pers, 

“Sh-h, some one will hear you and then the jig ’s 
up” 

“I ’ll be careful,” Martin rejoined, “but I am sure 
no one is here, for I looked into Stryker’s office 
when I first came in, and that ’s why I asked you 
feltows to come early. Watson, over there by the 
door, could not hear us if we talked aloud.” 

After a moment’s silence : 

“It ’s about this man Judson that I ’ve called you 
fellows together. I ’ve been watching him ever 
since he first came. I remember the story Schned- 
aker told about him, and I confess that I more than 
half liked him at first. He was kind of hayseedish 
and did n’t seem to be stuck on himself. No one 
would ever have thought that he was anybody in 
particular to look at him or to hear him gas. But, 
fellows, it ’s my opinion that he ’s gone up too fast. 
Now I ’ve been here going on three years, and look 
at me ! I ’m about where I started. Look at your- 


THE “MEAN MAN’S” PLOT 


157 


selves, where are you anyway? — why, just nowhere. 
Now, I do n't mind seeing a fellow go up providin’ 
he goes straight; but there ’s just one thing I can’t 
stand (and won’t), and that is to see another chump 
go by me who have been working like a Turk, not 
by merit or right but by a pull. Besides, the old 
grizzly is entirely too friendly with him. He 
thinks he can hide it, but he has n’t fooled me. We 
know they are regular chums when they get away by 
themselves. That sort of thing won’t work here; 
it may be all right in kindergartens.” 

“That ’s just the way I ’ve been thinking about it 
recently, but what are you going to do? If he ’s 
got a pull, that ’s all there is about it. If we make 
a fuss about it we ’ll get ‘pulled’ for our pains. 
There are some things we ’ve got to grin and bear. 
We can think all we please but that ’s about as far as 
we can go, I ’m thinkin’.” 

“Billy Bean, that was n’t a bad pun, but are n’t you 
ever going to grow any backbone? Now, if you 
ducks won’t give me away, I ’ll tell you what I ’ve 
been doin’ and give you my plans for the future.” 

“We ’ll stand by you, old drake, do n’t you worry 
about that. All we want is to hear what you ’ve got 
up your sleeve.” 

“That sounds like you, Jack Crawford; thanks 
for the expression of confidence. I ’ll try to merit 
it. Now shut up, every last one of you, while I 
talk for once. I ’ve been doin’ this — sendin’ in little 
fake items once in awhile over the ’phone in Jud- 
son’s name. I ’ve been mighty careful about it. If 
the items were n’t true, they were good enough to 


158 


POLLY 


be. They were impersonal or with fictitious names. 
They were the kind the old man especially likes — 
short, spicy, harmless, appearing in no other paper, 
copied afterward by the hack-country weeklies. It 
was fun to hear him commend Judson over the 
’phone. He has n’t caught on to the fakes yet, but 
I ’m keeping the cuttings and have got duplicates for 
you ducks. I want you, Billie, when you are out 
somewhere, to call up the old man, in an assumed 
voice, and take him to task for printing such stuff as 
that. Tell him you live out there; that there is no 
such number on that street; that The Panorama 
must be getting hard up to be compelled to fill its 
columns that way. Will you do it?” 

“Why, yes, of course I will. You are a born gen- 
eral and it will be an easy matter to do as you have 
outlined. The funny thing about it is that I never 
' think of those things myself. I hate the fellow as 
bad as you do, but I just take it out in hating.” 

“ ’Nuff said. Now, Jack, I ’ve got something for 
you to do. Are you in for it ?” 

“I ’ll follow wherever you ’ll lead, old man.” 

“Have you got any warm personal friend on The 
Gleam or any other morning paper, a friend you ’d 
like to do a good turn ?” 

“Why, yes, there ’s Duke Croxton of The 
Gleam; he ’s always doing me a good turn, and we 
shove things into each other’s way whenever we 
can.” 

“Well, how about this? You take this cutting to 
Duke. Tell him you do not want to work against 
The Panorama, but you ’d like to do him a little 


THE “MEAN MAN’S” PliOT 


159 


favor, if he won’t give you away, and at the same 
time get even with an enemy. Tell him you ’ll give 
him this fake you ’ve discovered and he can write a 
good one on The Panorama's methods of getting 
news, only call it a ‘morning contemporary.’ It will 
come out in double headlines. They will jump at 
the chance to get even with Stryker. He ’s fond of 
showing up The Gleam's fakes. My! won’t it make 
Stryker hot when he sees it ? Can I count on you ?” 

“You bet you can! You ’re the stuff, Jim!” 

“Now, I ’ll divide these cuttings among you. 
Use them judiciously in the next few days. Show 
one to Stryker incidentally. Prove that it is a fake. 
Get some other fellow to do it on the ground that 
you and Stryker are on the outs at present. The 
more outsiders we get into it the better. You see 
his best friends won’t think of connecting this sort 
of thing with Judson. Start the story that there 
is a plot against The Panorama and that some 
enemy is regularly faking us. In the mean time, 
every one of us must cultivate Judson and his par- 
ticular friends. When we are with Stryker we 
must speak out for Judson, tell him what a valuable 
man he is, and rub it in all we can.” 

“Well, is that all ? That ’s good as far as it goes, 
but it seems to me to lack something of amounting 
to much.” 

“Good for you, Cronin! I thought you ’d miss 
something. No, I have saved the climax for you — 
I might say, the master-stroke. You see all these 
other things are trifles ; they do n’t amount to a row 
of pins all told, only as straws showing the direction 


160 


POLLY 


of the wind. But by next week Stryker will be on 
to them hot and heavy. He won’t say a word, but 
he ’ll be thinking mighty hard, and I can see him 
now, looking mournful at Judson, as much as to 
say, ‘Well, I ’ve never been so fooled in a man in all 
my life!’ Now, you are a mimic, Cronin, born and 
bred. I ’ve got a good story, here, already written 
up. One week from to-night, at the very last 
minute, you call up Stryker, imitating Judson’s 
voice, and tell him you ’ve got a scoop. ‘Horrible 
murder,’ ‘Gruesome find,’ and all that you know. 
Pour it in hot and heavy. Tell him you had to run 
half a mile to get a ’phone. Time yourselves well, 
you three fellows there, and call up one after 
another. You, Billy, play policeman, and give a 
gruff account of the thing in a few words. You 
others play citizen, or anything else, and give a 
breathless story. It will be late, and any man 
would think he had received corroboration enough. 
Be sure and know where Judson will be that night 
and let the scene of the foul murder be somewhere 
in his region. Now, this is all easy, if we give 
minute attention to detail. You see I ’ve left myself 
out of the action of the grand finale, though I have 
it all cut and dried, because I ’m going to play sick 
that night and coach you fellows. Oh, yes, Cronin, 
there is another thing I will entrust to you. You 
call up The Gleam , as a citizen, and give a broken 
and contradictory account of the same thing, locate 
it near some public center so that Parsons will be 
‘on’ to the fake immediately. Won’t he rub it in 
the following day?” 


THE “MEAN MAN’S” PLOT 161 

“Your plan is all right and I believe it will go 
through, but Stryker will call up Judson the next 
day, Judson will deny the whole business, Stryker 
will believe him, then there ’ll be an ugly investiga- 
tion.” 

“I ’ve noticed you have n’t been saying anything, 
McKenzie. You are with us in this, I hope?” 

“Oh, yes, I ’m with you all right, for I hate the 
fellow as bad as any of you; but this is delicate 
business and our parts must be played to the dot, 
and I want to see it amount to something, that ’s 
all.” 

“Well, you see you do n’t know Stryker and Jud- 
son as well as I do. Stryker will call Judson, show 
him the fake scoop and these other little things. 
Judson will get as red in the face as a school-girl 
and deny it. Stryker, thinking he has got the dead 
wood on him, will get as mad as a hen at his effront- 
ery, and Judson will be too proud to say a word, and 
will walk out for good and all.” 

“Martin ’s right!” was the sentiment expressed 
by several. 

“Well, let us get apart before Stryker comes in. 
We must all play that we are on the outs with each 
other; but remember, we are the best friends Jud- 
son has got. But do n’t overdo the thing, only be 
sure that Stryker sees and understands the great 
fact of our friendship. So long !” 

And so the train was laid and the powder in 
place and the match was lighted'. There were 
trained hands and skilled brains back of this “mean 


ii 


162 


POLLY 


man’s” plot, and Judson walked on in his accus- 
tomed way, little dreaming of the mine that was 
laid for him and of the danger that was near. 

Hate makes men cunning, and the little begin- 
nings were more successful than their fondest antici- 
pations. In a few days Stryker was indeed looking 
“mournful” at Judson and wondering wherein was 
the mistake. 


CHAPTER XVI 


JUDSON AND THE BABY 

Polly did not know as much concerning Mr. 
Judson as she thought she did. Consequently she 
could not paint her pictures to Miss Marie in such 
gorgeous colors as she might have done had that 
modest young man taken her fully into his confi- 
dence. She did know a little about the consumptive, 
something concerning “the mean man’s plot,” the 
merest outline of the story of the office boy and “the 
coals of fire,” and a simple statement of the fact of 
Mr. Judson’s rescue of the baby. Judson’s mod- 
esty was the genuine article, not the kind that is 
cultivated and worn for the sake of effect only, to 
be dropped on proper occasions. Hence when 
praise came to him for having done his duty it 
made him restive and uncomfortable. After he 
had rescued the baby the gratulations of his friends 
were so unpleasant that he felt he could not stand 
the average reporter’s account of it in the papers, so 
he went to those who knew and pleaded with them 
as a personal favor to suppress it. Knowing him 
as they did and not wishing to hurt him unneces- 
sarily they cut out their good story with great re- 
gret. It happened in this way. 

It was early in the afternoon. Judson had been 
wandering aimlessly along the wharves of the East 
River, for there he had often caught sugges- 
tions of news that were worth following up. While 


164 


POLLY 


standing near a ferry-slip his eye had caught a 
glimpse of a blaze across the river. A boat was 
about to put out from the dock, the whistle had 
sounded, the gates had been closed and the chain 
cables had been unhooked, but a passing tug had 
detained the boat a single moment, just long enough 
to enable the swift runner to cut down the roadway, 
tossing a coin to the collector as he ran, and to leap 
on board as the monster craft began to move. He 
felt that the chances were in his favor of getting 
word to the office concerning the fire he could now 
plainly see from the front of the boat. It was not 
his business, and it would have made little difference 
to his paper, since it was a morning sheet, but the in- 
stinct was strong within him and his love for news 
kept him at it between times. 

The fire was near the ferry-slip on the Brook- 
lyn side. When he had first discovered it there 
was a simple blaze on the roof, but now the 
flames were coming from every window of the 
upper stories. The building must be filled with 
inflammable matter or it could not have gained head- 
way so rapidly. Yes, he knew the building now, it 
was a warehouse. The firemen were hard at work. 
The ladders were there, and the water tower. The 
laddies were doing their best, but it was a one-sided 
contest and their best apparently was to prevent the 
spread of the conflagration. So interested was he 
that he had seen little that was going on about him 
on the boat and had not noted the remarks of his 
fellow-passengers. He was jotting notes on his 
pass-book and was making a rough sketch of the 


JTJDSON AND THE BABY 


165 


fire as it appeared from the river, with the fire boats 
hurrying up ready to do their share in protecting 
the shipping interests. His plan was to reach a tel- 
ephone at once and send all he had. Just then a 
shriek went up from the passengers. Some firemen 
had been on the roof of an adjoining building let- 
ting their streams do their work on the fire from 
that point of vantage, when flames burst out of the 
windows of the building on which they were stand- 
ing. One man had seen what was the matter and 
had made a dash for the ladder, had slipped and 
fallen. There was one man gone to his death un- 
doubtedly and a lot more imprisoned on the roof of 
a burning building. Surely there was enough for 
an extra edition. He would send it all in at once, 
get the facts as to the origin of the fire and the num- 
ber killed and injured and turn that in a few mo- 
ments later. 

Judson’s position on the ferry had been at the 
point where the rail of the steamer joined the wind- 
screen at the end of the ladies’ cabin. Standing 
next to him were two nurse maids with their re- 
spective charges, one a boy of three or four and the 
other a babe of about two years. The folding 
portable perambulators were by their sides ready 
for use when the boat should make its landing. 
The little ones were supported on the rail of 
the ferry that they might see the fire the more 
plainly and at the same time bring forth the least ex- 
ertion from those weary and over-worked guardians 
who have so much to do with the weal or woe of the 
rising generation. The cry of dismay that had 


166 


POLLY 


gone up from the throng when the fire had broken 
out in the second building and upon the fall of the 
fireman from the ladder, had terrified the younger 
babe; the same cause had relaxed the nurse’s hold 
upon the child as her whole attention was turned to 
the horror that was being enacted before her eyes. 
The next instant there was another shriek from the 
nurse, for the babe had extricated itself from her 
relaxed grasp and precipitated itself in the dark 
waters beneath. 

Judson was a powerful swimmer and exceedingly 
quick to act. “The old swimming hole” at home 
and the river running near the college town had 
given him the opportunity to make of himself an 
expert. And yet he knew that something more than 
expertness was required from the rescuer of that 
babe — there must be endurance as well. The ferry 
might not stop at all in the confusion of the passen- 
gers, caused by the fire and catastrophe so near at 
hand. All this passed through his mind in a frac- 
tion of a second. The same instant he saw what 
could be done. To him, as a rule, to think was to 
act. Clothed as he was he had plunged into the 
river, never having lost the place where the hapless 
infant had gone down. He came to the surface 
with the child in his arms. “Man overboard !” was 
the shout that greeted his ears as the boat sped by. 
Judson’s act had been so quick that to the spectator 
on the boat’s deck the plunge of the child and of the 
man had been almost simultaneous. One thing 
Judson had done of which no one had taken note. 
As he stood on the rail to make the jump he had 


JUDSON AND THE BABY 


167 


unhooked, with his left hand, from its place on the 
inside of the wind-screen the round circlet of cork 
with rope attached, found on all boats either for use 
or ornament. Fortunately this one was in commis- 
sion and with it under his arms he would be able to 
hold the babe above water till help came, if, in the 
mean time, some heedless craft did not run him 
down. Another thing had passed through his mind 
before he had taken the leap and that was the fact 
that the boat was one of the newer double-ended 
propellers and there would be no danger from the 
paddle-wheels as in the older boats. 

On deck there was greater confusion than ever. 
Some cried one thing and some another. The nurse 
had fallen into a faint. The pilot saw the disturb- 
ance but thought it was caused by the tragedy being 
enacted on shore. In the mean time he had become 
entangled in the throng of smaller craft of all sorts 
that had collected near the scene of the fire. He 
was compelled to slow down and to maneuver his 
boat with great care and skill. He was just enter- 
ing the slip when a man rushed up to him with ashen 
face and told him that a child and a man were 
overboard. 

Before Judson had boarded the ferry-boat Par- 
sons had been aboard and for the same purpose. 
Having been near the river front he had seen the fire 
and had taken the boat in order to come near the 
scene and report it to his paper. He had seen Jud- 
son dash aboard in hot haste at the last moment and 
had purposely kept himself out of sight because he 
was eager that The Gleam should get out first with 


168 


POLLY 


an extra — if an extra were to be issued. Hence he 
kept himself at a safe distance but endeavored to 
keep both Judson and the fire in the range of his 
vision. He saw the babe disappear and Judson’s 
heroic dive. Few others noticed his plunge. The 
fire and the fainting nurse divided the attention 
of the throng about equally. It was Parsons 
who had cried lustily, “Man overboard 1” It was he 
who went from deck hand to official in a frenzy to 
get them to stop the boat. But no one gave him 
heed till he forced himself to the hurricane deck and 
to the pilot-house, just as the boat was making its 
slip. 

It was Parsons who organized the rescue party 
that put out in a skiff from the ferry-house slip, and 
it was he who pulled his friend and his terrified 
charge into the boat. By the time they reached the 
shore, the father, the mother, and the nurse were 
awaiting them in different stages of collapse. In 
the meantime, foreseeing the publicity that awaited 
him, Judson pledged Parsons to secrecy and gained 
his promise to keep any of the boys from “running it 
in on him.” Tying his dripping handkerchief about 
his face in a manner that displayed little more than 
his nose, he handed the child to its mother while he 
slipped through the throng to the nearest place 
where dry clothing and a new hat might be pro- 
cured. 

Both The Panorama and The Gleam came out 
with extras that afternoon, but neither Judson nor 
Parsons was the happy reporter to turn in the 
news. Parsons was guilty of sending a squib to 


JTJDSON AND THE BABY 


169 


The Panorama that appeared in the same extra — 
not to his own paper — as follows : 

“DARING DEED OE AN UNKNOWN HERO 
SAID TO BE A PANORAMA 
REPORTER. 

PLUNGES OVERBOARD FROM A MOVING 
FERRY, RESCUES A BABE AND 
ESCAPES WITHOUT AWAIT- 
ING THANKS.” 

At least those were the head-lines. The boys at 
the office guessed the man because of a cold he con- 
tracted and several little things that they put 
together. It was only by his own personal influence 
with the management that he kept his name away 
from the incident. But he will never get over the 
chagrin he felt because he lost his chance of a scoop 
on the fire. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THAT DR£AM AGAIN 

Polly frequently visited Miss Marie and some- 
times remained as long as a week at a time. That 
little lady did not know what fatigue meant as 
applied to the tongue and especially if “her” Mr. 
Judson was the theme, and, strange to say, Miss 
Marie was ever ready to listen. It came about that 
Dillon Judson, whom she had never seen, became 
the most real person in the world to her. Her 
imagination was active, and she would fit together 
Polly’s broken pieces till she formed a man in 
splendor and beauty of character far beyond any- 
thing her eyes had ever beheld. He was so real 
that she could close her eyes and see him, and before 
she understood what she was doing, this trick of 
conjuring him up became one of the delights of her 
idle moments. But she often said to herself and 
sometimes to Aunt Hettie, and once to Polly when 
she urged it, that she would not meet him for all the 
world, simply because she knew it would disillusion 
her, for the man she pictured to herself did not exist, 
never did in the past, never would in the future. 
She knew that her friends did not describe a flesh 
and blood man but rather the ideal of their own with 
which they had clothed an ordinary man. She was 
not going to be fooled by that, neither did she want 
her little picture spoiled, for it was a pleasure to 


THAT DREAM AGAIN 


171 


meet this idealized character in her little inner 
world. The man she saw towered above Van Dyke 
and Parsons and all the other men she knew till they 
dwindled into insignificance. 

Parsons and Van Dyke saw little of Miss Marie 
Harman that spring; she was too busy and happy 
to enjoy the former commonplaces of life. But 
they still drifted around to the Harman mansion 
occasionally, partly by way of habit, and partly 
because it was hard to give up. One evening “the 
light of the home” was startled to hear Mr. Par- 
sons mention Judson’s name in a casual, familiar 
way. Artfully she began to draw him out, for she 
wished to see what a man of the world might think 
of the man little Polly had painted in such high 
lights. She was rewarded by finding that the man’s 
opinion was fully as exalted as that of the little girl 
and that the former’s opportunity of knowing him 
had been much better. He had been an eyewitness 
of some things of which Polly had only heard indi- 
rectly. Without knowing why he did it, Parsons 
related story after story concerning his friend, and 
the young lady listened calmly to all his words and 
pondered them in her heart. Why was she so 
eager to listen to discourses on this subject? And 
why was she so demure when this name was men- 
tioned? At such questions she would metaphoric- 
ally shake herself and laugh merrily at the situa- 
tion. “If I knew him I would imagine I was in love 
with him,” she mused; “but I can’t possibly be in 
love with a man I never met and positively never 
saw ! That is an absurdity.” 


172 


POLLY 


“I believe you would like Mr. Judson,” Parsons 
concluded. 

“Perhaps,” was the indefinite reply. “But it 
seems so nice not to know him. His friends picture 
him to be so grand and noble that I am sure I should 
be disappointed. I love to feel that such a man 
exists and I am not willing to have my ideal shat- 
tered.” 

The next time that Parsons and Judson were 
alone together for a few moments the former began 
to talk. 

“Say, Jud, do n’t you have any girls on your 
calling list?” 

“What ’s that? I should say not. What ’s the 
use? My little Polly is good enough for me yet 
awhile. She ’s worth half the girls in the city, and 
her mother ’s worth the other half. To tell you the 
truth, I do n’t think much of the girls I see. Their 
minds seem to go to seed on the subject of dress and 
they are proud and ‘stuck up,’ as Polly puts it ; and 
though I may not be a good judge, the society girls 
I see seem to be selfish. Their whole mind seems 
to be on number one. But what ’s the use of talk- 
ing? I have an idea there ’s a girl somewhere for 
me. I ’ve seen her ever since I was a child. She 
has sunny hair and blue eyes, and an expressive 
mouth — not too small, and an adorable nose, and a 
sweet but firm little chin, and ears like delicate shells 
— Oh, I see her in my mind and I ’ll know her when 
these eyes behold her. I can even hear her voice. 
It is soft and musical, like the purling of the brook, 


THAT DREAM AGAIN 


173 


and her smile is but the sweet expression of her soul 
looking forth from the window of her face !” 

“Stop, stop! You talk like a lover. I believe 
you have seen her.” 

“Not I. It’s all up here,” touching his forehead 
with his finger. 

“Well, I have the advantage of you, for I have 
seen her and know her, and your description was 
pretty accurate, I can tell you. If I had any hope 
myself I would n’t tell you about her. But in the 
first place she won’t let me court her, and if she did 
it would require about a thousand years for me to 
take the first outworks, and I do not believe eternity 
would be long enough for me to take the citadel. 
I ’ve worked honestly for about a year and she ’s 
very sweetly kept me at arm’s length all that time. 
But I believe it would be different with you. I can 
see that you are the kind of fellow she would take 
to.” 

“What in the name of common sense are you 
driving at any way? Are you clean gone crazy? 
Have you just broken loose ffrom an insane asylum, 
old Rev?” (Parsons’s nickname among his most 
intimate friends was “Reverend,” suggested by the 
association of ideas ; but he was often called “Rev” 
or “Revvy,” for short.) “Who is this wonderful 
‘she’ about whom you have been raving, who has 
such poor taste that she will none of you, and whom 
you seem to be trying to settle on me? I am not 
a mind-reader or a telepathist either !” 

“Pardon me, Jud, I thought I had mentioned her 
name. I mean Miss Marie Harman, daughter of 


174 


POLLY 


Harrison Harman, as rich as Croesus and as beauti- 
ful — as beautiful as the picture of your future wife 
you so deftly painted a while ago. I want you to 
meet her and know her. If I can’t have her myself 
there is only one man in the world I would be will- 
ing to let her have, and that is you. I think it 
would kill me if old Van Dyke got her cr any other 
fellow of that set. They ’ve got little brains ; they 
would n’t understand her; they would make her 
life miserable. I would like you to meet her, old 
fellow.” 

“Well, I must say I appreciate your kindness, 
Rev, and I do believe you are honest, but you ’ll have 
to excuse me this time. I know that no such per- 
son exists as you and my Polly talk about ; but your 
descriptions so perfectly tally with my dreams that 
I should hate to be shocked by the real thing. No, 
I ’m afraid, Revvy. Not this time anyhow. Some 
time, maybe.” 

“All right, Jud, I ’ve been square with you. If 
you won’t go ahead I ’ll keep on doing my level best 
so long as she ’s Miss Harman. But I know in the 
beginning that there ’s no hope for me under the 
sun.” 

This was a sample of the kind of conversation that 
frequently took place now between these two 
friends. Parsons honestly believed that Judson 
was the kind of man that Miss Harman would like, 
and he was the only man he could bear to think of 
as the husband of Miss Harman, with the single 
exception of the one he had long ago learned to 
count among the impossibilities. He had not 


THAT DREAM AGAIN 


175 


learned the lesson that his method of making a 
match was the one that in ninety-nine cases out of 
every hundred was foredoomed to failure. 

In the mean time, Judson’s affairs had been going 
from bad to worse at the office. Martin’s plot had 
been so well planned and he had coached the con- 
spirators so constantly and so masterfully that even 
the faint-hearted among the number were convinced 
that it must succeed. Stryker, as predicted, had 
been doing a great deal of thinking. He had abso- 
lute proof that half a dozen recent news items were 
fakes. His vigilant reporters had ferreted out the 
facts and had brought them to him. They all with 
one accord professed to believe that there was a plot 
against The Panorama and that they would do all 
in their power to unearth it. But poor Stryker 
knew that every fake item that had been brought to 
his notice had been credited to Judson. Judson, his 
especial favorite of all the force; Judson, the im- 
maculate, the incorruptible; Judson, the one shining 
name, the one intense personality, the one magnifi- 
cent man! Strange, his passion had not begun to 
rise. There was, instead, a sense of hurt, as if Jud- 
son had insulted him personally. He could not 
fathom the situation. Every time Judson came 
near him the managing editor would scrutinize him 
as if he were trying to fathom the mystery. And 
Judson walked on, strong and happy in his uncon- 
scious innocence, friendly with every one, yet main- 
taining a certain aloofness for which he was noted. 

Stryker had been on the point of calling him up 


176 


POLLY 


once or twice and demanding an explanation, for 
somehow he felt that there must be an explanation. 
But he felt abashed, for some reason. In these mo- 
ments he felt like the culprit and Judson in his ma- 
jestic bearing gave the impression of being the 
judge. 

The magazine was well placed, the train was skil- 
fully laid. Nothing was now left but the touching 
of the match, for but one day intervened, which was 
to be a day of quiet. Stryker was particularly 
angry, for that morning The Gleam had come out 
with an expose of one of The Panorama’s recent 
fakes, which Stryker found to be attributed, as the 
others, to Judson. He was so angry that he feared 
he would not have been able to hold himself if the 
culprit had not been absent from the office. The 
other boys got the benefit of it, however. No one 
ever knew him to be so unreasonable and hard as he 
was that memorable night. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


AN ANTICLIMAX 

The meeting-place was a low little restaurant on 
one of the back streets not far from newspaper row. 
It was a place frequented by the least respectable of 
the attaches of the great journals of the vicinity. 
All the conspirators were present and occupying a 
table in the far corner of the room. Martin was at 
the head, doing the honors of host, as he well knew 
how when he was thus minded. The time was two 
o’clock in the morning, and the coming together was 
not by chance. 

After the orders had been given, Martin made a 
short speech in a low tone of voice, as a sort of in- 
troduction to the occasion, and then called for re- 
ports. “Cronin, let ’s hear from you, old Duck !” 

“I have n’t got much to say and can say it quick. 
I ’ve been mighty friendly with' our common friend 
for a week and he ’s softened up toward me more ’n 
I thought he could, and I ’ve almost come to the con- 
clusion that he is n’t half so bad as some of us 
think.” 

“He ’d be pretty bad at that, I ’m thinkin’. You 
did n’t let him pull the wool over your eyes, did you ? 
I certainly had more confidence in you than that,” 
was Martin’s rejoinder. 

“No, he did n’t pull the wool over my eyes 
exactly. I hated him just the same, and I took the 
12 


178 


POLLY 


concensus of the feelings of you fellows to be as 
good as the opinion of any jury in the State.” 

“That sounds more like you, Cronin. Now go 
ahead with your story, old Duck, and I ’ll promise 
not to interrupt you any more — till the next time.” 

“Well, I managed to find where our mutual friend 
was going to be the whole evening. As luck would 
have it, it was a good long way off and it would be 
necessary for him to use the telephone to make his 
report. I rushed my work early in the evening 
and then played off. I got out in his region as 
quickly as I could in order to shadow him. Finally, 
I saw him and made it a point nearly to run into him 
in my hot haste. Found he was going to telephone 
and then hang up for the night as quickly as he 
could get home. I told him a cock and bull story 
about some society scrape in the vicinity that I was 
chasing down, but that I did not believe would pan 
out anything, and that I hoped to be in bed myself 
before long. I let him pass, and then watched him 
go into a drug-store. After a long time, he came 
out. I loafed around for nearly an hour until I 
knew I must hustle to get my stuff in. Then I went 
into the same store. In the mean time, I had rigged 
up a disguise in order to resemble Judson as much 
as possible. I fooled the man in charge. Told him 
I was back again with more news for my paper. 
Thought that would help. As luck would have it, 
I got Stryker at the ’phone. Ain’t that lucky often. 
He recognized Judson in the voice I put on and 
called me ‘Judson.’ Our friend the managing edi- 
tor took the pains to tell me that he was just going 


AN ANTICLIMAX 


179 


home and that one of the telephone men had told 
him that my report had come in and that I had gone 
home. I told him that soon after I had sent in my 
report I had gotten a hint that had carried me out 
of my bearings but that it had been worth while. 
Then I told him what it was. It was worth all the 
trouble to hear him commend Judson through me 
and tell him that was a scoop indeed. He called the 
copy man and I poured it in hot and heavy. It was 
hard to hold Judson’s voice all the time. The whole 
thing has been tough work and mighty excitin’. If 
this had been a real night’s work, there would have 
been some pay in it, I can tell you.” 

“You are paid already, old Duck. Any man who 
could do a piece of work like that is rewarded by 
the approval of his own consciousness, to say noth- 
ing of that of the fellows. You ’re a born actor, 
Cronin. You played your part to perfection. Put 
it there! Now, Billy Bean!” 

“Oh, I played the part of policeman all right, with 
a wondrous deep voice. Funr.y, was n’t it? I got 
Stryker too at the ’phone. It must have been a few 
minutes after Cronin got through, according to our 
timing. Old Grizzly was mighty short but he 
thanked me and said that somebody was ahead of 
me. 

“That ’s just what the old man said to me, and 
hung up so quick I did n’t know what had hap- 
pened,” was Crawford’s brief report as “citizen.” 

“By the way,” said Cronin, “I forgot to say that I 
called up The Gleam and gave them a full account 
of the same thing, but got horribly rattled and 


( 


180 


POLLY 


mixed up, and was finally called down for a fake. 
Besides, I fixed it up near the Waldorf, and you 
know what that means.’’ 

“Well, fellows, let ’s drink to our success. There 
has n’t been a flaw in the business from beginning 
to end. Success is as certain as fate. We ’ll stay 
right here till the early edition. I ’ve got a newsboy 
friend of mine to bring me over here the first copy 
he can strike.” 

So they ate and drank and filled in the time with 
story and anecdote, till a boy rushed in with a paper 
for which Martin dropped a half dollar. 

“Now, fellows!” and he took the paper and 
opened his mouth as if about to read. His eyes 
scanned page after page to the very last. Then 
once more he went through it. At last, throwing 
down the paper, he said, 

“I ’ll be damned !” and ran out of the place. 

There was another side to the little comedy that 
was being enacted by the “mean man” and his asso- 
ciates. There was one personage that Martin had 
not reckoned with, and a very inconsequential one 
at that — the office boy, Tom. Tom came to the 
office very early one afternoon — it was a mistake 
of course. Such things are not deliberately 
planned. The clock at home had been an hour fast 
and had thus betrayed him into this indiscretion. 
He did not have time to go back and there was no 
convenient place in which he could loaf, so he threw 
himself on top of a pile of discarded exchanges just 
inside of the partition, and fell promptly asleep, for 


AN ANTICLIMAX 


181 


he was a growing boy and his work was wearing. 
He could not have been asleep long before he was 
awakened by voices on the other side of the parti- 
tion near which he was reclining. He was about to 
turn over for another nap when he distinctly heard 
Mr. Judson’s name mentioned by one of the voices. 
Instantly he was all ears to catch the faintest whisper 
that had any reference to his dear friend. He heard 
the injunction to be careful lest some one should 
hear, and the confident response that the inner office 
was vacant because the speaker had investigated 
carefully. 

“Somethin’ ’s doin',” muttered Tom to himself as 
he carefully rolled up against the partition and 
gently pulled some of the papers over him, so that 
no one would have suspected his presence had he 
gone into the room with a search warrant, and he 
did not mind the dust. “That ’s Jim Martin,” con- 
tinued Tom under his breath. “I ’d know him in 
Je-rusalem, in the middle of the night.” 

After listening to the remark of the man who had 
not “grown any backbone,” before Martin’s re- 
sponse, the quick-minded boy had already surmised 
that it was “Billy Bean.” “If I did n’t know his 
voice, I ’d know the way he talks. He ’d thrash 
everybody in the office, behind their backs, but be as 
sweet as pie to their faces, ’ceptin’ me. He thinks 
he can lick me ’cause I hain’t so big as him. But I 
hain’t afraid of him.” 

Another spell of listening and, “I guess that must 
be Jack Crawford.” When Billy Bean remarked 
that when he hated he had to take it out in hating, 


182 


POLLY 


Tom could scarcely refrain from yelling out, “Yes, 
that seems to be your main business in life, old fel- 
low !” When Jack Crawford nobly proclaimed that 
he would follow wherever Martin led, the boy 
behind the partition responded to himself. “No, 
they ’d never catch you leadin’ anywheres 1” 

After a long spell of intense listening, the little 
fellow’s sole comment to himself was, “Humph! 
So Cronin ’s in it too, is he ?” So it happened that 
by his knowledge of the men, this despised boy, of 
the most menial service, was enabled to say with 
certainty who were in the plot. After the conspira- 
tors had separated Tom gave vent to his pent-up 
feelings, 

“Whew ! I believe my head will split.” 

Then he carefully pulled himself together from 
his narrow place of confinement down between the 
papers and the partition. He was rather stiff, not 
only because his quarters had been narrow but 
because he had been afraid to change his position, 
almost afraid to breathe, and once he felt that his 
life was in danger, for he thought that he would 
have to sneeze — the dust, perhaps, was the cause of 
this. But he remembered what he had heard one of 
the reporters say about pressing the finger hard up 
under the nose. He put this prescription to the 
test and thereby saved his life, he afterward de- 
clared, for he firmly believed that Jim Martin would 
have killed him if he had known he was there. Jim 
was not the man “to take it out in hating,” Tom well 
knew. Martin was a man of deeds and some of 


AN ANTICLIMAX 


183 


them would not bear the search-light of police in- 
spection. 

“Well, what shall I do?” was the question that 
naturally asked itself. “I should like to see the 
thing through, just for the fun of it. No one in 
the world would ever suspect me of knowing any- 
thing about it. If it were any one in the whole 
bunch but Mr. Judson, I ’d let it go just to see how 
it would turn out. No, sir-ee! He ’s been too 
much of a brick to me and me mother. I ’ll give 
him the tip.” 

After more mature deliberation he decided to let 
the matter run on for a while. He came early every 
day and shadowed the fellows. It was as good as 
being a detective — the height of his ambition. 
Hence, he did not give Judson the “tip” till two days 
preceding the climax. By that time the “old man” 
had been looking “mournful” at Judson for some 
time. Then the boy became afraid that Judson 
would consider it beneath him to do anything, so 
the very afternoon of the last day he made a clean 
breast of the matter in full detail to Mr. Stryker. 
Judson had spoken to him the night before but 
without mentioning names. 

The managing editor did not give a sign to a 
single one of the conspirators that he had any ink- 
ling of their intentions. He even tarried at the 
office that night so that he might help them as much 
as possible and make them certain that they were 
succeeding. Then, without a word, he bided his 
time, dropping the conspirators as opportunity 
offered itself. Indeed, there was no difficulty in 


184 


POLLY 


that, for most of them drowned their disappoint- 
ment in protracted sprees. Nevertheless, Stryker 
confessed to his intimates that morning at supper 
that the plan had been so perfectly arranged and car- 
ried out that it would have fooled the very elect. 

. The conspirators never discovered why their plot 
failed to work. They acknowledged to themselves 
that it was an anticlimax. 

Polly had another chat with Miss Marie soon 
after the events just narrated. She was full of her 
subject because it was a sequel to a story already 
told. 

“Yes, the dear little office-boy said, you remem- 
ber, that he was not the man to forget a favor. And 
so he was always looking for a chance to ‘get even’ 
with Mr. Judson, for he was a man of his word, you 
must know. Well, early one afternoon, ’cause he 
had nothing to do just then, he went to sleep on the 
floor. Pretty soon he was waked by some men on 
the other side of the wall and he knew it was ‘the 
mean man’ and ‘his crowd,’ and he heard their 
dreadful wicked plan to get rid of Mr. Judson, ‘just 
for nothin’ at all, ’ceptin’ that they hated him’ ; so 
he comes and tells Mr. Judson what he heard, 
though he was scared to death for fear ‘the mean 
man’ would ‘do him,’ whatever that means ; and Mr. 
Judson feels awful bad about it, ’cause he could n’t 
believe that anybody hated him like that. But he 
goes and tells Mr. Stryker — he ’s the big newspaper 
boss up there — all about it, ’ceptin’ he would n’t tell 
who it was. When the time came Mr. Stryker 


AN ANTICLIMAX 


185 


knew all about it and was ready, so no harm came. 
What do you think? It was n’t very long before 
that same ‘mean man’ got into some kind of trouble 
and Mr. Stryker ’scharged him, and he could n’t get 
no work, and he ’d spent all his money. Mr. Jud- 
son heard of it one day, and what did he do ? Why 
he went to him as natural-like and invited him out 
to dinner with him, and while they were eating he 
said he had made ten dollars that day that he had n’t 
’spected to make and he’d like to put it out to inter- 
est somewheres; if he knew anybody that wanted 
it, why it would be a favor to Mr. Judson. What 
did the man do? Why, he just burst out crying 
like a big baby. Nobody liked him very well and he 
was almost starvin’. Then he told Mr. Judson how 
mean he ’d been, but Mr. Judson said he did n’t want 
to hear it. ‘Let by-gones be by-gones,’ he said. I 
think that was beautiful, do n’t you, Miss Marie? 
It sounds almost like the Bible. Then he took him 
to a friend at another newspaper shop, a Mr. Par- 
sons I think he said it was. Oh, you know Mr. 
Parsons, do you? Well, he was good and kind, but 
not half so good and kind as Mr. Judson. Mr. 
Judson asked Mr. Parsons to give this ‘mean man’ 
some work as a personal favor, and he did it; and 
now, what do you think? Why, they ’re the best of 
friends. And now Mr. Stryker loves Mr. Judson 
almost as much as I do. I wish you knew him, 
Miss Marie, I know you ’d love him too !” 

“Sometimes I almost think I do already” — mus- 
ingly, and almost forgetful of the little girl’s 
presence. 


CHAPTER XIX 

DONALD'S RETURN 


Mr. Harman came home from his foreign trip the 
first of March. He was warmly welcomed by the 
ladies of his household, not only because they had 
been lonesome during his absence, but because they 
were eager for his active sympathy and help in the 
McLean matter. He was mildly astonished when 
at length he was alone with his family, not to hear 
the usual questions concerning his trip and his health 
and the things he had seen, but instead the full story 
of the troubles of the family on Blacksly street, and 
the efforts that had been made to alleviate them. 
He entered at once, as the ladies knew he would, 
into full sympathy with all they had done. He was 
troubled at the sudden and mysterious disappear- 
ance of Donald and approved of Mr. Arnold’s ac- 
tivity in representing himself in this case. Now, 
with Mr. Harman actively behind all operations, 
every avenue of search was entered, and every 
available instrumentality was employed, and large 
rewards were offered. Besides the natural agencies 
of the police and detective departments, the news- 
papers took up the matter in their own way and 
reporters began to work on the case. Every clue 
was given to the public and the people scanned the 
columns daily for something new, while the news- 
boys cried lustily, “Full account of the McLean 
mystery !” 


DONALD’S RETURN 


187 


These newspapers were almost the death of Mrs. 
McLean. For some of the clues suggested murder, 
suicide, abduction, and every possible means of 
hiding. On Mr. Judson’s advice she ceased reading 
the papers, for he promised to inform her of any 
reliable news, and thus her feelings were spared in a 
measure. 

The Panorama had not assigned Dillon Judson 
on this case, but he had taken it up independently. 
He preferred to work in his own way and without 
publicity. In this instance there was an interest 
ahead of his beloved paper — Mrs. McLean herself. 
Like all others he had worked on blind trails. 
Finally, unlike others, he struck the right one. 
About the middle of April he requested leave of 
absence, and when it was understood that there 
might be news it was granted without question. He 
was not heard from for two weeks. 

One morning, the first week in May, The Pano- 
rama came out in modest headlines, presenting to 
its readers a complete scoop. , 

“FOUND ! 

DONALD McDonald McLEAN 
THE QUIET PERSISTENCE OF A 
PANORAMA REPORTER 
Does What Others Failed To Do 
THE FULL THRILLING STORY!” 

The night before, while the tenement was dark, 
Judson brought the young man back to the door of 
Mrs. McLean’s apartments and then vanished, amid 


188 


POLLY 


the confusion and joy of the welcome home. He 
had taken the precaution to prepare the little mother 
for this unexpected home-coming by sending a tele- 
gram early in the day, of which the following is a 
copy : 


“Be prepared to welcome a distinguished stranger 
this night. 

“Dillon Judson.” 


Mrs. McLean had carried all she had been able, 
and any sudden shock, either of joy or sorrow, 
might have proved serious if not fatal. 

A glimpse into the room: the little mother is 
waiting, very nervous, almost afraid that she has 
misinterpreted the message, but braced up by the 
ever-faithful Polly. At last there are steps on the 
stair. She is all prepared for the greeting, but is a 
little relieved as well as a great deal disappointed to 
find the guest no less a personage than her neighbor 
Mrs. McCloskey, who begs pardon for the intrusion 
and desires the loan of a sup of sugar for Mike’s 
coffee — the poor dear man comes home tired, and 
coffee without sugar do n’t seem to rest him. Mrs. 
McCloskey’s wants having been relieved, there is 
another spell of agonized waiting, during which the 
nervous woman paces the floor, in order to hold her- 
self calm. After what seems to be a long time steps 
are again heard below, but do not ascend to her lofty 
landing. Again she is called to the door. This 
time she feels certain that it is her boy, and with 
quivering heart rushes to the door only to receive 


DONALD’S RETURN 


189 


into her open arms Mrs. Murphy, who is closely fol- 
lowed by Mrs. Muggins, Mrs. Higgins, and Mrs. 
Smithers, who had come up to spend a quiet evening 
with their neighbor under the roof. Mrs. McLean 
was too polite to tell them her difficulty, though she 
wished from the bottom of her heart that they had 
postponed their visit. But she received them kindly, 
and before long was interested in their homely 
conversation. First it was about warts, and the 
best method of getting rid of them. The debate 
waxed warm for a while, whether hoodooing with 
a stone in the full of the moon, throwing the stone 
over the left shoulder, and running away as fast as 
you could; or picking the offending protuberance 
with a pin, then burying the pin with the blood fresh 
upon it, at a cross roads, was the better method. 
Mrs. Muggins always employed the first method 
with unvarying success, and Mrs. Higgins, always 
the second method, with equal success. At length 
Mrs. McLean was called upon to act as umpire. 
She had never employed either method, hence she 
could not say. 

“What is it ye do for warts, thin, Misthress Mick 
Lane?” 

“When my children are troubled with warts, Mrs. 
Muggins, I always apply a little lunar caustic.” 

“And what moight lunnie caustic be?” 

“Oh, it is something you get at the drug-store 
for the purpose.” 

“And does it drive thim away?” 

“It does in time, not instantly.” 

“Do n’t ye have need of the pin or the stone?” 


190 


POLLY 


“No, it is simple enough. You moisten the lunar 
caustic with water and apply it to the wart each 
night. It turns it black for a few days and then it 
just drops off of its own accord.” 

“Well, it ’s lunnie caustic I ’ll be afther usin’ on 
the childer. I niver did have no faith in that stone 
business !” 

“And I niver had no real faith in the pin,” Mrs. 
Higgins chimed in. 

The next topic of conversation was children’s dis- 
eases, but the ever-thoughtful Mrs. Murphy, re- 
membering Mrs. McLean’s recent bereavement, 
adroitly turned the conversation to the hard times, a 
topic of which they were all full, and upon which 
they were well able to give a reason for the hope that 
was in them. In this they were perfectly harmo- 
nious and had no need to call upon the kindly offices 
of an umpire, and no one knows how long they 
would have remained and enjoyed themselves in 
their metaphorical business of tearing the capitalists 
to pieces, if one at a time the respective mothers had 
not been called down-stairs in the interests of the 
minute details in their own intricate establishments. 
Hence it was about half past nine when Mrs. 
McLean found herself alone again. She was in a 
much better frame of mind than she had been, and 
she thanked the dear women, in her heart, for com- 
ing up to her in the hour of her need and tiding her 
over those two awful hours. In her nervous state 
she feared she would have collapsed. Now, how- 
ever, she felt perfectly normal, for during the call 
of her friends she had relaxed and had entered into 


DONALD’S RETURN 


191 


their thoughts and feelings so truly, that for the 
time their troubles and destinies were hers, and she 
had nothing of her own about which to worry. 

Again steps are heard on the stair and something 
begins to flutter within. With both hands pressed 
against her heart, as if to hold it down, she bids 
Polly open the door. The stream of light floods the 
passage, illuminating the bulk of a great fellow, who 
comes running in and throws his arms about the 
neck of the little woman, crying out, 

“Little Muzzer! O little Muzzer!” as if he were 
a child again. 

And the woman cries, 

“Donald! O my Donald, my Donald! God is 
good ! He has heard my prayers !” 

Then the sobs of mother and son and little ones 
were the only sounds heard for many minutes. 
When the sobs had at last sobbed themselves out, 
and the tears had dried up at their source, they sat 
down and looked into each other’s faces long and 
fondly, neither mother nor son nor children feeling 
moved to speak, being perfectly satisfied for the 
time simply to be together and to know that all was 
well. If there is such a thing in this life as soul 
communion, there can be little doubt that soul com- 
municated with soul that night, for little articulate 
language passed between them. But a great peace 
settled down over the patient little mother’s heart, 
as if she had heard and knew that all was well. 

Polly, as might have been expected, was the first 
to break this silence. 

“I knew you ’d come, Don ! I knew you’d come !” 


192 


POLLY 


The ice is broken. Donald wants to tell his story 
at once but the mother forbids. She has supper all 
prepared but has forgotten it hitherto — just the 
things he loves. She will not let the children ask 
questions. “Not till to-morrow,” she insists. “I 
know he has suffered. Let this night be free. 
She permits him to ask questions however, to his 
heart’s content, and she tells him of all that has hap- 
pened in his absence and of God’s goodness to them. 
He learns, to his chagrin, that several letters he had 
sent had not reached their destination, several of 
which contained money for their support. Then he 
knew that he had been the victim of a conspiracy. 
The one thing that had comforted him in his later 
troubles was the thought that he had provided for 
the comfort of the loved ones at home. 

In the mean time, Judson has hurried over to The 
Panorama office and is there closeted with Stryker. 
There is some sort of a controversy between them, 
for both are speaking loud ; but Judson is firm and 
carries the day. He rushes to his desk and writes 
his story impersonally, giving all the credit to an un- 
named reporter and to the enterprising journal that 
persists and succeeds where others fail, and glossing 
over the faults and mistakes of Donald as much as 
possible; giving only such points as the public had 
a right to know, after all that had been said and 
written, and casting all the blame possible on city 
officials and certain classes of idle men who make it 
their business to ruin the lives of many of the bright- 
est and best of the city. 


CHAPTER XX 


judson’s recital 

The next morning, after breakfast, in response to 
a summons served by Mrs. McLean, Harrison 
Harman and Dillon Judson appeared. Morning 
worship was just ended, in which the little mother 
had poured her heart out to God in thanksgiving 
and praise, for His wonderful goodness to her, as 
first one and then the other invited guest knocked at 
the door. 

“Donald has a story to tell and I want you to hear 
it,” explained Mrs. McLean, after the little formali- 
ties and pleasantries of greeting had been properly 
disposed of. “I think if Mr. Judson will prepare us 
for it by giving us his account first, it will perhaps 
help us to understand Donald’s story the better. 
Mr. Judson, will you kindly tell us how you ever 
found trace of my boy, after other experts had 
failed?” 

“With pleasure, Mrs. McLean. I think I can 
answer a part of your question by a single word, 
though — it was personal interest in the case that 
made me succeed where others had failed.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Judson, for that interest.” 

“My story is not long, for I shall endeavor to 
omit the parts that naturally belong to Donald’s 
portion. 

“As soon as I became acquainted with the case, 
13 


194 


POLLY 


I took great interest in it, not as a newspaper man, 
you know, but as a friend of the family. If there 
is any credit due me, as I said, it must be laid at the 
door of personal interest. The police and detec- 
tives, at first, for some reason, seemed to lack that 
incentive that often urges them to success against 
apparently insurmountable obstacles, and without 
which little can be accomplished. Before they 
really got down to work, Donald had had the time 
and opportunity to change his appearance by the 
growth of a mustache and by a new and flashy style 
of dressing ; a change of name had done all the rest 
that was needed to hide his identity. Hence the 
belated circulars that were sent out were of no con- 
sequence whatever. 

“The first thing I did was to examine the news- 
paper files near the date of his disappearance to see 
if I could find there any light on the subject. I will 
not weary you by a detailed account of what I saw 
and thought. One case is of some interest. Some 
suspicious characters had been in town and had been 
arrested for loitering. On examination it was dis- 
covered that they had plenty of money about them 
in gold. They claimed to be successful miners from 
the Klondike who had come to the States for the 
winter. They would soon return and wanted to 
take with them some bright young fellow with 
plenty of nerve, as they put it, and they promised to 
make him rich, if he proved to be the right sort. 
He need invest little or nothing. Their story 
seemed straight enough, but they were detained a 
short time, until it was reasonably certain that they 


JUDSON’S RECITAL 


195 


were not wanted anywhere for some crime or mis- 
demeanor. No one seemed to know anything about 
them or their record, so they were released. Still, 
they were shadowed by the police and newspaper 
men too. 

“In the issue for the next day there was an item 
which said these two men were seen boarding a train 
going west, with a lad from seventeen to nineteen 
years of age, of medium stature, stocky, dressed in 
clean but well-worn clothes, and possessing a gen- 
eral air of intelligence and refinement, along with 
signs of care and anxiety. 

“I began to think that I had found the right clue, 
and I consequently blamed every person with any 
responsibility for this case who had not seemed to 
take the trouble to investigate this mystery. It was 
as clear as daylight to me. Donald had fallen in 
with these men in some way and they had filled him 
with stories of the possibilities of the Klondike till 
he had felt certain that a fortune surely awaited him 
there. He was completely discouraged, was not 
earning anything, and saw no immediate prospects, 
and was only an additional mouth to fill, hence he 
would go without the unpleasantness of final tears 
and prohibitions, but with the full purpose of writ- 
ing as soon as he could do so in safety. I began to 
work on this case with great confidence, obtaining 
the consent of The Panorama , and getting down to 
business in fine style. I even employed a detective. 
After the first day this gentleman came to me with 
the report that these men had been traced from city 
to city, in a westerly direction, but had at length 


196 


POLLY 


separated, each of the three going in a different di- 
rection. This was a difficulty that was never fully 
surmounted, for while the two men reunited in San 
Francisco, there was no further trace of the boy. I 
was beginning to wonder at the marvelous work of 
this man in so short a time, and at the same time to 
distress myself at the disappearance of this strange 
boy, when the detective relieved me by saying that 
he had gotten all of this information from the police 
detective department, which had investigated this 
case thoroughly at the time, and from their descrip- 
tions the boy could not have been Donald. You can 
imagine my chagrin. I lost some of my self-impor- 
tance and gained some respect for the police. 

“This did not discourage me. I was more deter- 
mined than ever to do something. My mind was 
busy all the time. At length I determined to read 
the want advertisements in the important papers of 
the time of Donald’s disappearance. In The Pano- 
rama of December 29 or 30 I came across this 
one” — taking a newspaper cutting from his pocket- 
book and reading : 

“ ‘Wanted, by an elderly gentleman, a good reli- 
able young man as a companion in trip abroad. 
Will be treated on terms of equality. References 
given and required. Call, 1639 Warsaw.’ My 
finger ends began to tingle. That ‘want’ would be 
apt to take the eye of a boy out of work. Of course 
he had read these columns over and over again. He 
might have obtained the position and slipped away 
surreptitiously because he feared opposition, little 
considering his mother’s anguish, but undoubtedly 


JUDSON’S RECITAL 


197 


intending to forward his first wages from across the 
sea. My opinion was that his mail had been tam- 
pered with, in which case something ought to come 
later, or else there had been accident or foul play. 
I prefaced my own investigations with a call at 
police headquarters to assure myself that I was not 
duplicating work already done. I visited the house 
on Warsaw street, where I found a respectable 
family. It came out that the old gentleman of the 
advertisement was a relative, an uncle I believe, in 
good circumstances, ordered abroad by his physi- 
cian for his health, who needed a stout young man 
of steady habits as a traveling companion and as- 
sistant in case of sickness or emergency of other 
nature, and not as a servant. The advertisement 
had been well answered and the most promising 
young fellow had been selected. They had no dis- 
tinct recollection of this man but thought perhaps he 
did tally with my description of Donald. Obtain- 
ing the gentleman’s address I cabled him and re- 
ceived this reply: 'Boy rogue with alias. Ab- 
sconded London hundred pounds.’ I was positive 
from this message, I was off the scent. 

“One day soon after I found a sensational story 
in The Gleam. A farmer about twenty miles from 
the city had found out in a swamp the nude body of 
a man in a bad state of decomposition. Not far dis- 
tant were the traces of a fire, with a few scraps of 
burnt cloth remaining, and the broken fragments of 
a tiny bottle. The surmise was that some unfortu- 
nate had wished to depart from this life by the poi- 
son route but had endeavored to obliterate possible 


198 


POLLY 


identification by means of the fire before he swal- 
lowed the fatal draught. I brooded on this for a 
long time. It haunted me by day and by night. It 
did not seem possible that Donald would take his 
own life, and yet I knew his despondent condition 
and it was impossible for me to get my mind away 
from him in his extremity, driven mad with the load 
that was too heavy for him to bear. I confess that I 
did little after that for several days till I happened to 
make inquiry of a friend on The Gleam , who told 
me that the item was a ‘fake,’ and they had never re- 
tracted it because no names were mentioned, and a 
newspaper never likes to confess a mistake. Items 
of a startling nature, which are manufactured out of 
the whole cloth, are constantly received by newspa- 
pers. Sometimes they are so adroitly put and ap- 
parently well authenticated that they slip past the 
most astute censor. The best journals have a rule 
not to publish anything, without corroboration, un- 
less it come from a regular correspondent. I then 
discovered that the same item had come to The Pan- 
orama , but as it had not stood the test, it had been 
rejected. 

“Again I had recourse to the newspaper files. I 
somehow felt if I could not find a clue there the case 
was hopeless, for the newspapers are the eyes of the 
city, beholding the evil and the good. I found an 
article in The Panorama of December 30, but I did 
not come across it as a possible solution to the mys- 
tery till about three weeks ago. The article was 
headed, ‘A Bad Day for the Slot Machines.’ In 
brief, it stated that six young men had gone from 


JUDSOtf’S HECITAL 


199 


resort to resort and had so played the machines that 
for once in the history of the city they were worsted. 
The owners of the machines were convinced that the 
young men were in possession of a trick by means 
of which they were enabled to beat them. It could 
not be ascertained how much had been won, but it 
was a good pile. Another reason for believing in 
the trick was that five of the men met at The Holly- 
wood, a sporting resort, and one of them played 
poker and came off five thousand dollars the best. 
They were last seen the next morning as they 
boarded the eight-thirty train south. 

‘‘That was the substance of the item. You see 
newspapers are vigilant, and while they may some- 
times help a criminal to escape, they often help to 
bring him to justice. Some reporter had been as- 
signed to this case as soon as the tip had come in 
that the slot machines were catching it, and he had 
shadowed these fellows as long as they were in 
town, anticipating news. I never should have 
thought of connecting Donald with that circum- 
stance if Mrs. McLean had not chanced to tell me a 
day or two before the sad story of her husband’s 
struggle and final victory. Then it came to me like 
a flash, — a veritable inspiration, — heredity ! 

“I went immediately to The Hollywood, and 
turning back the pages of the register had my finger 
on Donald’s name in a minute. Evidently he had as 
yet formed no plans to get away and had conceived 
no thought of concealing his identity. You can not 
imagine what a thrill went over me as I contem- 
plated that name. At last I was on the scent. Don- 


200 


POLLY 


aid had been a guest of that hotel all night and for 
breakfast. 

“The proprietor corroborated the newspaper 
story concerning the game of poker and told me that 
the player for the crowd was McLean, and that they 
had left to go and play the races somewhere, he was 
not sure where, but thought it was New Orleans. 

“My next move was to discover the reporter, and 
I was delighted to learn that it was Schnedaker who 
had been shadowing these men. He gave me fairly 
good descriptions of two or three of the companions, 
two of whom I had little difficulty in finding in their 
favorite lounging places. When I made them un- 
derstand that I was not after any one criminally but 
simply wished to trace one of their companions who 
had been lost sight of, they were communicative 
enough and gave me full and glowing accounts of 
their successes, which I will permit Donald himself 
to tell. I also learned from one of them something 
about some letters which Donald can explain better 
than I can. 

“My next move was to get myself assigned di- 
rectly on the case, and then, without the help of a 
detective, I traced him to New Orleans, thence by 
short stages to Cleveland, where I lost him for a 
while, thence to Detroit. 

“After leaving New Orleans he had registered 
himself as D. M. Donaldson. I had little difficulty 
after making that discovery. I spent a whole week 
in Chicago before I got on his track, when I traced 
him to a broker named Brownson, who told me of 
Donaldson’s financial collapse. He also said that 


JUDSON’S RECITAL 


201 


for some reason the young man had been under too 
severe a strain for a long time and that he had finally 
lost nerve. The last he had seen him he was walk- 
ing aimlessly down Washington street, and as he 
had seen him in that region several times previously, 
his opinion was that he had cheap lodgings in that 
vicinity. 

“I had never seen the young man, but I had fairly 
good descriptions of him, not only from home, but 
from various stages of the journey. I haunted the 
region indicated by Brownson till I became an ob- 
ject of interest to the police. Two days after, I was 
walking west on Washington street when I saw a 
sorry-looking form on the other side of the street. 
I hurried on to the next crossing and then retraced 
my steps till I came up to him. Stepping close I put 
my hand on his shoulder gently and said, ‘Hello, 
McLean P He gave such a start that I knew I had 
my man. He managed to say in a scared tone of 
voice, ‘You are mistaken, I never saw you before; 
my name is Donaldson.’ I told him that was all 
right among strangers but that it would not go with 
friends from home. 

“Taking him into a restaurant where we could be 
alone at that time of day, I told him of his mother 
and her terrible burdens. You should have seen 
him when I told him that she had never received a 
single word from him. He broke down completely 
and sobbed like a little child. It was then that his 
old manly nature reasserted itself. I could see him 
brace up and the look of determination come into his 
face. He made a clean breast of it to me, the same 


202 


POLLY 


story that he will relate to you presently, and he said 
he would go home and be a man, if I would help 
him. I believed every word he told me. I think he 
has had experiences in certain directions, sufficient 
to last him all the rest of his natural life. 

“I insisted on getting him a new outfit, though it 
was his wish to return just as he was, so that the 
pride that had been born in him for a time might 
have no chance for a resurrection. Because I needed 
a relaxation and because of a business venture 
in Ohio that I wished to look after, as well as be- 
cause I thought it best for him to have a little time 
to readjust his mind to new ideals before he got 
home, we took our time on the homeward journey, 
and I have not regretted a minute of it. We have 
opened our hearts to each other and I believe that 
there is a man Donald McLean inside this chap that 
will rise superior to environment and that will make 
his impress on his generation if not on the page of 
history. He was caught in a torrent and swept 
away before he knew there was a torrent within a 
thousand miles of him. Now he knows that they 
may be hatched at any minute and without warning. 
I took the precaution to telegraph to Mrs. McLean 
yesterday morning in such a manner that she would 
not be shocked by a sudden return. 

“I believe that is all I have to say. I must apolo- 
gize, for it has taken me about twice as long as I 
thought it would. I am afraid that I put too much 
of my own side into it when you were all impatient 
to hear his story.” 

“I think you did just right, Mr. Judson,” said 


JTJD SON’S RECITAL 


203 


Mr. Harman. “Your account of your methods and 
the different clues was most entertaining. It shows 
how easy it is to jump at conclusions, and at the 
same time to pass by as unimportant the one thing 
needful. You have the instincts of a detective.” 

“Thank you. The instincts, but not the inclina- 
tions.” 

“We thank you very much for your full and in- 
teresting account, Mr. Judson, but more for the fact 
that you brought home my boy. Now, Donald, it is 
your turn.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


donald’s lxplrilncls. 

“I ’ll tell it just as simply and just as straight as I 
can. When I left home, the next day after the 
funeral of my little brother and sister, armed with 
mother’s note to Mr. Harman, my hope was that I 
might obtain James’s place as parcels-boy — rather 
a low ambition for one of my years and size. 
I did not feel ashamed, for I felt that I must 
do something, and this might prove a stepping- 
stone. But when I learned that Mr. Harman 
had left the country and that no one in the 
store knew anything about James’s appointment, it 
just seemed to me that all my hopes had fled. I 
think I gave up the battle for a while, for I wan- 
dered down by the wharves and finally sat down on 
a box with my face in my hands, the picture of de- 
spair I know. How I suffered! Clouds dense and 
dark covered my sky and I was a speck floating in 
darkness. I wished I might die, I prayed that God 
would let me die. It it had n’t seemed so everlast- 
ingly mean to leave mother and the children to fight 
it out alone, I believe I would have ended it all by 
committing suicide. I think I was in a fever; my 
face was hot, my tongue was dry. 

“While sitting there I was startled to hear voices 
in my proximity. I knew by the tones of voice that 
there were young men or grown boys near me. 
Walking around a big pile of boxes with my hands 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


205 


in my pockets, I found a crowd of idlers matching 
coins. I could feel a nickel in one pocket that 
mother had scraped up from somewhere and given 
me when I started out, and two pennies in the other, 
that I had been carrying for many days as lucky 
pocket-pieces — hoping that their number would in- 
crease. Mother always wanted us to have money 
for emergencies and I felt that the emergency had 
come. Something seemed to rise up within me like 
a mighty beast. I was in its clutches and could not 
help myself, indeed I did not seem like myself. 

“The young fellows were well-dressed, but with 
that flashy finish that betokens sportiness. They 
were about my own age, and friendly enough, for 
they soon invited me to join them, which I did with 
alacrity. They had a new and interesting method 
of playing that I will not take the time to explain 
now. Suffice it to say that for the most part I was 
winner. We were exceedingly absorbed for an hour 
or more, scarcely conscious of anything but the 
game. By this time some of the fellows began to 
grow weary, and I did not blame them, though not 
one of them seemed to show resentment; instead 
they took me to be something great and said I was 
born under a lucky star and all that sort of nonsense. 
When I counted my money I found that I had ex- 
actly one dollar and seven cents, so that I was just 
one dollar ahead of the game, and that was more 
money than I had earned by myself at one time 
since I had left the country. Most of the coin was 
in nickels and dimes, for I had been compelled to 
bank out the coppers I had won, again and again. 


206 


POLLY 


“One of the fellows then asked me if I had ever 
played the nickel-in- the-slot machines, or wheels of 
fortune, and as I had not he proposed that I go and 
try my luck. He said he knew where there was an 
easy one. I am sure I do not know what he meant 
by that. We all agreed to go. I had never had my 
attention called to one of these machines before, so 
they explained its workings to me. There were sev- 
eral slots at the top in which one might drop a nickel 
and under each slot was a different color — red, 
black, green, etc. After you deposited your nickel 
in the slot you pulled a lever and a great wheel re- 
volved in front of you rapidly. This wheel was di- 
vided into tiny segments of different colors. If the 
color you played happened to stop opposite the little 
pointer at the top, you won. I do not remember ex- 
actly how it was arranged, but when one color was 
successful as much as two dollars came to you ; the 
others represented smaller winnings, down as low as 
ten cents, or five cents more than the amount you 
invested. If some other color than the one you play 
comes up, as of course it usually does, you lose your 
nickel. It was possible for several to play at once, 
but we agreed to take it one at a time, for they all 
insisted on playing the same color I chose. 

“It would be interesting, if it did not take so long, 
to give you the remarkable history of my successes 
that began with my first play. After I had won ten 
dollars and each of the fellows was ahead of the 
game somewhat, the man in charge came to us and 
indicated that something was wrong with the ma- 
chine and turned it to the wall. He even hinted that 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


207 


our earnings were not fair and that we would be 
compelled to refund. But we laughed at him, for 
before we commenced to play we waited for a man 
who invested as many as forty nickels in that same 
machine with no return whatever. In that case we 
noticed that the man in charge did not worry con- 
cerning the machine. 

“We were all intoxicated with success, and some 
of the fellows advised drink as a bracer; but I de- 
clined and they were all determined to follow my 
lead to the most minute detail, for they were afraid 
of losing their luck. We found another place where 
our luck was nearly as good, but we were again in- 
vited to move on. We then went from place to 
place with varying success, but always enough ahead 
to keep us excited. Every once in a while one of 
the fellows would undertake to play alone, without 
my initiative, but in every instance loss followed. 
While when they permitted me to play for them, in 
almost every instance I brought them some re- 
turn. I am glad for one thing, that the machines 
of this city for once had the tables turned on them. 
Each machine with a good public exposure wins 
thousands of dollars a year. I do not know whether 
any one ever had a similar streak of good luck or 
not, but it certainly was a bad day for the slot ma- 
chines. But we had no trick. Of course, a man 
who enters into those things will almost uncon- 
sciously form a system. I had a system. I soon no- 
ticed that the same color often came up three times 
in succession, especially with the same man at the 
lever with a steady thrust. 


208 


POLLY 


“Some of the fellows suggested the penny slot 
machines. These are the ones in the candy stores 
and other public places, to tempt the children for 
candy, and the boys for cigarettes. They have five 
revolving discs, each with eleven playing cards upon 
it. In one sense it is like a mechanical game of 
poker, except it lacks the possibilities of a straight 
game of poker, because there are not possible the 
same number of combinations; for in a fair game 
of poker one has the chance, at least, of getting cards 
from the whole deck, while in the slot machine there 
is no possible interchange of a card on one disc to a 
place on another. Besides, one of the fellows who 
professed to know said that there was not an honest 
machine in town, they are all doctored or fixed so 
that a machine will of a surety win at least eighty 
per cent, for the house. I learned another thing 
about the nickel-in-the-slot machines along with 
other knowledge that came to me during my ab- 
sence. I learned that the men who have them ex- 
posed are afraid of fair play. They can dock up’ 
any color and make it impossible for that color to 
win. On some machines it is impossible ever to win 
two dollars. Other men, with a pretense at fairness, 
will unlock the two-dollar color for a few minutes 
each day. Sometimes the barkeeper knows and will 
give the tip to some of his intimates, who will play 
only when there is a chance at the highest stake. I 
have a notion that the two-dollar channel in that 
first machine was unlocked after the unlucky man 
had played his forty nickels. The attendant cer- 
tainly opened it for a minute. I believe that he* 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


209 


turned it to the wall so that he might lock it up tight 
after we left. I have a notion that we struck the 
lucky time of day for many of the machines. But I 
do not believe you especially want to hear these 
things now. 

“By three o’clock in the afternoon I took account 
of cash on hand and discovered that I had in the 
neighborhood of sixty-nine dollars in my pocket. I 
was exceedingly weary and wanted to go home, but 
was ashamed. We all decided to go to a hotel and 
rest till night. At The Hollywood, a sporting resort, 
I wrote a note, mother, in which I said I was in a 
fair way to earn some money and enclosed a ten- 
dollar bill, as advanced. I was afraid to send more 
lest you would suspect that all was not well. One 
of the fellows said that he had to go home, and vol- 
unteered to mail my letter near a sub-station. I did 
not suspect him for an instant. I then repaired to 
my room and endeavored to sleep, but I was wild, 
restless, nervous. 

“After six o’clock dinner we again met, with the 
exception of the man who mailed my letter. I have 
never seen him since. I have no doubt he saw me 
slip money into the envelope and determined to get 
it if he could. He must have thought me ‘easy.’ 
We soon began to play poker, a game that father 
played with us children of evenings, as far back as I 
can remember, until it was to me like second nature. 
It seemed that father had to play it in order to hold 
himself, as he put it. Mother disapproved of it al- 
ways, but thought it better for father to have these 

14 


210 


POLLY 


little games at home than to have him go away at 
night in order to seek them elsewhere. No one 
could have had a better teacher than I had. We 
played with a dollar limit. In a short time I had 
won twenty-five dollars, and they decided there was 
no use playing with me. I was possessed with the 
same spirit that had held me during the day. 

“The fellows suggested that we go down-stairs 
and look up a game in which they would back me. 
They found some men who were willing to play with 
a high limit. I lost at first, but I discovered cheat- 
ing of the rankest sort. They believed me to be 
green and they were going to finish me soon. I de- 
clined to play with them unless they would play with 
their coats off and permit me to furnish the cards. 
I was as calm as I am now, and talked up to them as 
if I were an old hand at it. I have since learned 
that the man who represents ‘the house’ in such 
games does not expect to play fair. In the first 
place, while only one is recognized as ‘the house,’ 
several others standing around as outsiders are se- 
cretly on that side. If you know anything about the 
game you can see how easy it is, in these circum- 
stances, for them so to play that they will protect 
‘the house.’ But further than that, they use marked 
cards. Cards are ‘shaded’ or ‘blocked’ so deftly that 
none but the man who is ‘on’ to those things can 
detect them. I did not know this that night. I have 
learned it since. Still, I was positive of cheating 
and I suspected the cards. Why, they even trim 
them with a machine, so that in handling they will 
know. They demurred at my proposition at first, 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


211 


but believing me to be green, and relying on each 
other, they finally agreed. The room was insuffer- 
ably hot anyway. I went out and purchased a pe- 
culiar deck of cards I had noticed in an adjacent 
store that afternoon. The faces were large half- 
tone pictures of actors and actresses, devoid of 
spots, with the exception of the indexes in the cor- 
ners. The backs of the cards were all alike with 
hobgoblins upon them. I also purchased a thirty- 
two caliber revolver and loaded it, for I knew I was 
a child among desperate men and I did not know 
what they might take a notion to do. I meant busi- 
ness, you can see. The men examined the cards 
closely, especially the backs, and were not pleased 
with them. They said the indexes were too small. 
But I remained firm, and they yielded, feeling cer- 
tain they could fleece me in any event. I do not see 
why they did not. I tremble now at the thought of 
my temerity. 

“I settled down to win. If ever a man meant 
business, I did. I was in fine trim nervously ; every 
nerve seemed to be in perfect balance and I had per- 
fect confidence in my ability to bluff, and at the same 
time to see through many of their bluffs. It was 
soon evident that they were losing some of their con- 
fidence. They began to change their opinion of me 
and decided that I was not a greenhorn after all. 
Confidence did a great deal for me. Without it a 
man is as good as beaten at cards before he begins. 
Still, confidence could not account for all my suc- 
cess. I must say that I had wonderful luck. When 
a man had three jacks he thought he had a pretty 


212 


POLLY 


reasonable certainty, but I turned up with four 
queens, and so it went. Quite a crowd was intently 
watching the game. By midnight I had cleared five 
thousand dollars, only a thousand of which was 
mine, however, according to our previous arrange- 
ment. The men began to claim that I had cheated 
and there was much loud talking, for they had been 
drinking heavily; but The Four stood for me and 
the whole crowd hooted at the idea ; there had been 
no opportunity for tricks and I had won the crowd 
by my quiet, steady playing. I divided my proceeds 
and went to bed. I locked and bolted every door in 
the room, including that to the closet. I looked un- 
der the bed like a scared girl, and in every conceiv- 
able hiding-place and into some that were inconceiv- 
able, for I was nervous to the last degree. 

“I placed my revolver and money under my pil- 
low, and after an hour or so of restlessness, went to 
sleep. Along about three o’clock my light slumbers 
were interrupted by a peculiar noise on or about the 
door. Whatever it was it was quite gentle. I held 
my breath ; there was a slight scraping noise as of 
iron against iron. I turned on the electric light at 
my head and at the same instant fired my revolver 
at the top of the door. Some one ran rapidly and 
noisily away. I expected a rush of inquirers, but 
all was silent. I have no doubt that ‘the house’ had 
employed some thug to relieve me of my winnings 
if possible. I sat up in my bed the rest of the night 
with the light turned on. 

“Next morning I was not over my ‘spree,’ for I 
must tell you now that I have been on a protracted 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


213 

gambling 'spree/ The Four came early. They in- 
quired whether I had ever played the races. You see 
they took me for a mascot and wanted to use me as 
long as I was in luck. They brought the form for 
City Park and we studied it together. Some of 
them said it was not necessary to go so far away 
from home, that the pool-rooms would do as well. 
But most of us wanted to see the horses upon which 
we were to bet, and we wanted the fun. I wrote 
mother first, telling her I was on my way to make a 
living but was suddenly called out of town. Not 
being able to come home, I would deposit to her 
credit, in the savings bank in which her little all had 
been placed, when we returned, two hundred dollars, 
money advanced me on account. I promised to 
write to you soon from my new address. I then 
hastened to the bank. While I entered, one of The 
Four took the letter to mail in order to save time. 
I have no doubt he thought there was money in it. 
The teller at the bank remembered me and gave me a 
receipt of deposit for the two hundred dollars. We 
were in great haste for we wished to catch the eight- 
thirty train. 

“We caught the last boat for our train and 
reached New Orleans in due time. We spent much 
of the time on the train in discussing the races, The 
Four telling me all they knew. At last The Four 
wanted to smoke and I wanted to sleep, so they left 
me. They had no sooner gone than a fine-looking 
old gentleman, who had the section right back of the 
one I was occupying, reached over and invited me 
to come visit him. When I was seated he said, 


214 


POLLY 


“ *1 thought I heard you young men talking of the 
races. Do you know anything about them?’ 

“ ‘Not a thing/ was my honest reply. 

“ ‘Are you not a little afraid to go it blindly ?’ I 
felt sure a lecture was coming and tried to circum- 
vent it in my reply, for I was in no mood just then 
for sermons or lectures. I was tempted to make a 
sharp retort about ‘butting in/ and leave him. I 
did say, 

“ ‘Oh, I guess I ’ll let the horses alone.’ 

“ ‘I do n’t believe I would do that,’ he said, to my 
bewildering astonishment. I looked at him a little 
closer and discovered that my new-made friend was 
not a minister as I had supposed. It was true he 
wore a Prince Albert coat and stove-pipe hat and 
that his face was adorned with a mustache and im- 
perials, perfectly white ; but there was a sly twinkle 
in his eye, a tinge on his nose, and an odor on his 
breath that were not altogether ministerial. 

“ ‘I like your looks, my boy, much better than 
those sports you are running with. Look out for 
them. I know a thing or two. I have a notion to 
put you on to something while they are gone, and it 
is a great secret, too. If you will pledge yourself 
not to give it away, not even to your precious chums, 
I ’ll let you have it.’ 

“You may be sure I readily gave him my word. 

“ ‘Well, I am a blue-grass horse-breeder and I am 
the owner of “Felicity,” the horse that has been a 
tail-ender this whole season. Why, they have been 
betting a hundred-to-one on her and precious few at 
that. But I do r/t look like a fool, do I ? I know a 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


215 


thing or two. I know what that horse can do. 
Day after to-morrow I shall be rich on his account. 
You see, I ’ve been holding him in all season. But 
day after to-morrow is the great handicap. I ’ve 
got four thousand dollars on him myself and I have 
let a few of my best friends in on it. You see “Fe- 
licity” is a “long shot.” Now that I have given you 
the tip, what are you going to do ?’ he asked with a 
twinkle. 

“ ‘Do’ ! I said, ‘do’ ? There ’s but one thing in the 
world to do — put my little pile on your horse and 
thank you a million times.’ 

“Then, putting his hand on my knee, in a fatherly 
manner he began to tell me about horses and races. 
Things I had never heard of before were on his 
tongue’s end. He told me what ‘touts’ were and 
how to use them. After a long conversation he sud- 
denly pushed me out with the whispered warning 
that The Four were returning. 

“Next morning, when we reached the track, I re- 
fused to play at all. I knew what I was about, then 
I wanted to get my bearings. The Four were an- 
gry and we almost had a break, but they thought 
better of it. They all lost considerable money, after 
which they were quite content to wait for me. The 
next day was the great handicap. Something had 
happened. The betting was against ‘Felicity’ only 
fifty to one instead of a hundred. This made me 
fearful. When The Four asked me what I was go- 
ing to do, I told them, begin by putting a hundred 
on ‘Felicity.’ You should have heard them hoot at 
me. They told me he had been a tail-ender all sea- 


216 


POLLY 


son and that it had been hard to get bets at the odds 
of a hundred to one. They cursed me roundly and 
went their own ways. Again they lost heavily, and 
I was angry with myself that I had not put up five 
hundred on the horse. I might have had five times 
my earnings, which were five thousand dollars. I 
hunted up my old friend and thanked him with in- 
tensity, but did not tell him of my wavering. When 
I told him that I had won five thousand dollars he 
opened his eyes, for he had not thought I had pos- 
sessed enough money to win that. 

“The next day The Four never left me. By the 
time we were in our places a couple of touts came to 
me, having heard of my winnings of the day before. 
They wanted me to bet on ‘The Queen of Spades/ a 
coal black mare. She had not been doing much but 
they claimed to have a tip. I told The Four I was 
going to put up on the black mare. Again I won, 
and The Four were jubilant, for they had cleared a 
neat little sum. The touts approached me a second 
time. But I knew that they were working, not in 
my interests, but in those of the bookies. They 
asked me to bet on a sure winner, ‘Richard III/ but 
I told them pointblank that I was done with them. 
They asked me to tell them what I was going to do. 
I had no plan. I looked over the list and finally 
said, 

“ ‘I am going to bet on “John L.” I always did 
like “John L.” the original and I like this one’s 
looks.’ They told me I was a fool. The Four stood 
by me. It happened that the owner of ‘John L.’ 
was making a ‘killing’ tK'xt dav and again we rode 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


217 


in on the slaughter, if that is an acceptable figure 
of speech. 

“After these three successes I found myself with 
between six and seven thousand dollars. Strange 
to say, I was satisfied with the races and wanted to 
leave. The Four would not listen to it. They 
wanted to remain. I was not ready to return yet. 
I had not reached the limit of my spree. I was feel- 
ing for something broader. There was still the un- 
satisfied craving of an awful appetite. The one 
thing that bothered me was mother. I thought she 
had the two hundred and ten dollars to live on, but 
I knew she would be worried on account of the 
mystery connected with my absence. I assure you 
that my conscience was so active at this time that it 
would have forced me back home in any ordinary 
trial, but this was extraordinary. I was battling 
with a force unknown to me, whose powers were 
gigantic. I satisfied my conscience the best I could 
by writing another letter. I did not want mother to 
know that I had been at New Orleans at all. One of 
The Four was going home and said he would mail 
it anywhere I suggested. I told him to drop it in 
the box in the Philadelphia station. In this third 
letter I said I was prospering, and was suddenly and 
unexpectedly called West by my new employer, 
whence I would write and forward more money. 
Strange, I never suspected for a minute The Four ! 
I do not think that fellow was going home before 
the others at all. He thought I would send money 
in that letter, for I was always talking of mother 
and her needs, so that they often made fun of me. 


218 


POLLY 


“I went to Cleveland, thence to Detroit, and 
finally to Chicago. In all these places I did a little 
playing of different sorts with varied success, but 
always meeting my expenses I believe. Indeed, I 
was always just enough ahead to keep up the ner- 
vous tension that kept me at it. I believed in my 
luck and thought that it would never desert me. 
Not that I expected to win every time, that would 
have been too much. One has to lose now and then 
to make gambling the spicy thing it is. But I be- 
lieved that I was lucky enough to win considerably 
more than I lost. I carried the bulk of my money 
in thousand-dollar bills in a little bag tied securely 
around my neck so that I was conscious of its pres- 
ence against my flesh all the time. I never permit- 
ted myself to carry much in my pockets. In play, 
whenever I exhausted the amount loose in my 
pocket, I called myself broke, and quit for the time. 

“In Chicago, after several minor things, I became 
interested in wheat. I tell you it is a fascinating 
thing! Of all the gambling I ever tried there was 
no form that equaled this for excitement. The more 
I watched it the more intense I became. I soon made 
the acquaintance of a remarkably successful young 
broker by the name of Brownson. He seemed to 
take to me at once. I spent much of my spare time 
in his office up-town, where he presented me to many 
of his friends, among whom I remained in high fa- 
vor for many days. Gradually, Brownson learned 
the story of my winnings, and I ended by making 
a confidant of him, telling him of my alias and the 
reason for it, and introducing him to my father’s 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


219 


memory, which he well knew by reputation. He 
told me that I ought to be a broker like my father ; 
that I had all the instincts that heredity could be- 
stow; that I would undoubtedly become rich. He 
advised me to write to my mother from some other 
place, indicating my good fortune and promising to 
send for her shortly. He gave me a few tips, and in 
a few weeks I cleared something handsome. Once 
or twice he said my instincts saved him from slight 
losses, and once by following my advice, he made 
quite a little pile. Thus he seemed to become quite 
fond of me, and finally invited me home to board 
with him. He had recently married and his wife 
was young, beautiful, and accomplished. She took 
a great fancy to me and treated me as a younger 
brother, but her head was full of society notions. 

“I took Brownson’s advice and wrote a letter to 
you, mother, and gave it to a friend of Brownson’s 
who was on his way to Detroit, where he promised 
to mail it, that it might have the postmark of that 
city. I suppose he forgot it, or perhaps it was lost 
in the mails. I am sure it was not a case of dis- 
honesty this time. 

“At length Brownson and I became satisfied that 
the time was favorable to play on wheat and we both 
invested heavily. I put in nearly all I had, for I was 
certain the market was right. Sure enough, day by 
day, point by point, wheat began to soar. To say 
simply that I was excited would be to describe too 
mildly my condition during that period. Again I 
must call it intoxication, for want of a better name. 
The sensation was more intense than it had been 


220 


POLLY 


before, because there was more at stake and it was 
practically my all. This deal would decide my fu- 
ture. If I were successful I would send for mother 
and the children at once and we would be able to live 
comfortably. While I was anxious all this while, at 
the same time I was in a state of ecstatic joy. I 
lived on the mountain summit; breathed a rarefied 
atmosphere; caught glimpses of sun-illumined 
promised lands in the distance. 

“Well, wheat continued to climb. One day 
Brownson came in, much excited, to talk over the 
situation. We both decided that the time had come 
to sell. Brownson did so at once and cleared a neat 
fortune in the one deal. I intended to sell, but hung 
on, like a fool, I shall never be able to tell why. It 
seems to me now as if I could not have helped it. I 
was sure it would rise again, so I watched it day af- 
ter day run down the chute, till I knew all was gone. 

“Money was n’t the only thing I lost — I lost confi- 
dence, that certainty that I was under a lucky star 
and could not fail; that unerring instinct that had 
been with me so long. I had nearly a thousand dol- 
lars that had not been put into wheat; I ought to 
have come straight home, but I was ashamed and 
wanted to retrieve. Brownson had been away for a 
few days and did not know that I had not done as 
we agreed. When he discovered what a fool I had 
been he was very angry and told me plainly that he 
had been mistaken in me; he had intended to wait 
till my capital reached a certain limit when he was 
going to offer me a partnership. But he intimated 
plainly that I lacked one of the great essentials in 


DONALD’S EXPERIENCES 


221 


his business — decision ; there could be no wavering. 
To use his words, Tn our business he that doubts is 
damned!’ I was incensed, and said some hasty 
things and pulled out. After that I attempted all 
the old things, but everything I touched went against 
me. I lost little by little, till when Mr. Judson found 
me I had not more than a dollar to my name and 
did not know which way to turn. I must have been 
the most pitiable spectacle on the streets of Chi- 
cago. 

“In conclusion I have simply this to say, I can 
not account for the sudden development of the 
gambling tendency, but I can say that I have had 
enough. I know what success means with its 
corresponding elation, and I know what fail- 
ure means, persistent failure, with its corre- 
sponding hell, and I am perfectly satisfied with 
what I have — I want no more. I hate it ! 
God being my helper, I am done with it forever, 
in every way, shape, and form!” and he brought 
his fist down with such telling emphasis that no one 
could doubt the honesty of his purpose. 

Donald had told his story in such a simple, 
straightforward manner, without any attempt at 
embellishment, or excuses for his grievous errors, 
that all who heard him were impressed. In fact, at 
times during the recital interest had been so intense 
that his auditors found themselves holding their 
breath, and when he was through there were audible 
sighs of relief. 


CHAPTER XXII 


HARRISON HARMAN AND DIDDON JUDSON 

After Donald’s recital silence reigned supreme, 
nor was it broken till Polly burst into the room with 
a letter for her mother. The nervous little woman 
took it into her hands and was about to break the 
seal, when of a sudden she paused and then uttered 
a cry, 

“It ’s in Donald’s own hand! I would know it 
anywhere; and think of it, it ’s postmarked Los 
Angeles, California!” 

“Why, that must be my last epistolary effort, 
mother, written from Chicago. That miserable 
scamp must have forgotten his commission in De- 
troit and carried it all the way to the Pacific coast. 
He said he was going west from Detroit. There 
was a fatality connected with my attempts at letter- 
writing that outranks anything I have ever read in 
the story-books.” 

The letter was the subject of discussion long and 
deep. The absent-minded broker came in for a 
goodly share of condemnation. But one at a time 
confessed to the fault of carrying letters instead of 
mailing them. Mr. Harman made them all laugh 
at his experience. 

“One spring a good many years ago I was visit- 
ing Washington for the first time and made a side 
trip to Mount Vernon. I was wearing for the first 


HARRISON HARMAN — DILLON JUDSON 223 


time that spring a light overcoat that I had not 
worn since the preceding October. I put my hand 
in the side pocket for my gloves and found what 
proved to be a large square envelope, sealed, 
stamped, and addressed in that angular feminine 
hand that was just then coming in vogue. I had no 
recollection concerning that letter. It must have 
been in my pocket for six months. As soon as I 
reached Washington that evening I posted it. I 
have never learned its antecedents nor its sequel. 
It taught me a lesson, however. I have made it a 
point from that day to this to be absolutely trust- 
worthy in even so small a thing as mailing a 
letter.” 

After congratulating Mrs. McLean on the return 
of her boy, the two visitors departed together and 
were soon engaged in conversation. 

“That was a clever piece of work of yours, Mr. 
Judson, and your paper should be proud of you. 
But I did not find your name connected with the 
story in The Panorama. I thought reporters signed 
their names to important work in these days. They 
were not fair to you, it seems.” 

“It was all my fault. I had a pitched battle with 
Stryker last night, but finally had my way, for a 
wonder. I have no desire for the reputation of a 
detective. In any event, if there is any glory, it 
belongs to the journal. That is the living organism 
that does things and to which credit or blame be- 
longs. Reporters are like members of the body ; the 
hand, the arm, the foot — each member is constantly 


224 


POLLY 


doing good or evil, but none thinks of giving the 
member itself praise or blame, but the person, the 
living organism that includes all. Besides, in this 
instance, the work for the paper was incidental, it 
was for Mrs. McLean and Polly that I gave myself. 
For once The Panorama was secondary. I con- 
quered Stryker by showing him I had broken news- 
paper traditions and deserved censure rather than 
praise. I should have telegraphed the news at 
once and had it published several days ago. It is 
essential that news should be absolutely fresh; be- 
sides, there was danger that some one else might 
cut us out because of the delay. I ran the risk be- 
cause I did not want Mrs. McLean to see anything 
in print before she had seen and heard Donald. 
After that, all would be well. Stryker saw my 
point and yielded.” 

“Well, it was a scoop anyway, if it was not tele- 
graphed from Chicago, and it was entirely free 
from that obnoxious spreadeagleism prevalent in 
the modern ‘yellow’ journal. The Panorama has 
no equal, in my opinion.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Harman ; that kind of praise is 
sweet to a reporter.” 

The conversation drifted for a while, but finally 
came back to Donald. 

“You are a young man, Mr. Judson, what do you 
consider the safest kind of investment? I mean 
aside from a business which a man manages him- 
self.” 

“That has been a real question with me for some 
time. I do not mean that I have been worried by a 


HARRISON HARMAN — DILLON JTOSON 225 


surplus or that I have had very much to invest. 
But my balance has been a little larger than I 
needed for my personal use, in spite of the drains 
thereon occasioned by the demands of what I am 
pleased to call my family, — some poor unfortunates 
who look to me as their guardian, — hence the ques- 
tion. After considering it from a country boy's 
view, I decided to invest in real estate. About the 
same time, through my connection with the paper, 
I learned of a farm for sale over in Monmouth 
County, New Jersey, the owner of which was said 
to be drinking it up and himself to death. I went 
over to look at it. I knew enough of land to see 
that this was a bargain, for it was a forced sale. I 
not only wanted a place to put my money but I had 
an inherited ambition to own a farm. They say it is 
so fertile that if one tickles it it will laugh in crops. 
Unfortunately, I shall never have opportunity to 
prove it. A gentleman who knew its value and who 
wanted it because of boyhood’s associations ap- 
proached me. The more he offered the more eager 
I was to hold it; but when he held out double the 
purchase price, half in cash and half in six per cent, 
mortgage on the place, I was compelled to let it go. 
Now I have my money well invested you see, and 
yet I have my original amount waiting for an op- 
portunity. The reason I am afraid of companies in 
almost any line is that I am not sufficiently 
acquainted with their technicalities to keep a check 
on them, and I have not sufficient time to put myself 
into them.” 

15 


226 


POLLY 


“You have the right idea, I am sure, and you 
were fortunate in your first venture. I hope you 
will always be as successful. The shrewdest specu- 
lators do not often double their capital in so short a 
time.” 

“I suppose the political economists would call my 
gains ‘the unearned increment,’ but in truth I had 
no thought of speculation. I wanted to own a good 
farm and I expected the rent to pay me good inter- 
est, for Monmouth County, New Jersey, is said to 
be the fourth county in the country for fertility. I 
am truly sorry that I felt compelled to let the 
land go.” 

“By the way, Mr. Judson, give me your honest 
opinion of young McLean. You have been with 
him several days. Do you think he tells a straight 
story? Is he cured? If I undertake to help him, is 
he to be trusted ? In my business I am more afraid 
of men who play than I am of men who drink. The 
latter soon or later will expose themselves and 
they are dropped, but the former may go on for 
years without our knowing it. They are both bad 
enough, but I would rather commit the interests of 
my business to the man who drinks a little than to 
the man who plays a little.” 

“I believe you are right, Mr. Harman ; the man 
who gambles is not a safe man for a position of 
trust. As to McLean, I think he tells a straight 
story, in the first place. I have had corroboration 
all the way along. That letter coming in as it did 
was a silent witness to his truthfulness. Then I 
think he is cured of his trouble. He was overtaken 


HARRISON HARMAN— DILLON JUDSON 227 


when he was off guard and not suspicious. 
Then 'came the tremendous experience of winning 
thousands immediately followed by that of losing. 

I think the feeling of disgust and misery more than 
offset the memory of his exhilaration. I have no 
doubt that he will be tempted but he will be on 
guard hereafter. He is no ordinary boy. Besides, 

I think I see two sides to the inheritance question. 
He certainly inherits his father’s gambling tenden- 
cies, but I think I see signs of that indomitable will 
that conquered in spite of death. He said to me 
more than once, on our homeward journey, that he 
would rather die than fall again, and I am sure he 
meant it.” 

“You are right, Mr. Judson. There was some- 
thing about the way he told his story that took hold 
of me. He looked and acted the man. There was 
no sign of the whipped culprit there. I have about 
made up my mind to give him a trial, if he is will- 
ing. Well, here ’s where I leave you, and we have 
walked it. My interest in the conversation made 
the way short. Won’t you come up into my office 
and finish this, Mr. Judson?” 

“Not this time, Mr. Harman; I want to go to 
the office for a while to settle up some little matters 
that have been waiting for me. I am glad that you 
are going to give young McLean a trial; I think 
he has got it in him. Good day, sir.” 

“Good day.” 

Mr. Harman went to his office and called for Mr. 
Arnold at once, whom he instructed to send for 


228 


POLLY 


McLean. It was not long after the summons was 
served that the young man appeared. He was 
ushered at once into the presence of the senior 
member of the firm. He looked bright and brisk in 
his new business suit of clothes and his clean-shaven 
face. 

“Well, McLean, I have decided to offer you a 
position, if you are willing to take one with us. 
What is your bent and how much education have 
you been able to get ?” 

“I am not sure as to the former, sir, but the latter 
is extremely limited. Of course I have had common 
schooling and I have always been a reader, and, I 
think I may say, an observer. Then, in some direc- 
tions, it is an education to be in the companionship 
of my mother, and I discovered that blessing only 
recently when I was thrown so much with the sport- 
ing class of men. My desire is to take up some 
night courses for a while in ordinary branches, then 
later a full commercial course. As far as a position 
is concerned, I want to begin at the bottom or near 
there, with the understanding that I shall be ad- 
vanced as soon as I shall prove myself worthy. 
Mother has that two hundred dollars to her credit 
in the savings bank that she did not know was there. 
I have persuaded her that she has a right to use it 
to settle her obligations. We are accustomed to 
practice the strictest economy, and I am confident 
that even the little I may be able to earn in the be- 
ginning will be sufficient for our simple living. So 
if you think I am too big for a parcels-boy, make 
me a wrapper, or what you please.” 


HARRISON HARMAN — DILLON JTJDSON 229 


“Nobly spoken, young man. I like the ring in 
what you have said. You talk sound business sense. 
I have sometimes offended young men entirely with- 
out experience because I did not offer them some- 
thing approximating a partnership at the outset. It 
shall be as you say, because that is wisest and best 
for all parties concerned.” 

Calling Mr. Arnold, Mr. Harman gave him direc- 
tions in a modulated tone of voice, and Donald was 
sent off into the great store, with the promise of five 
dollars for the first week’s work and an opportunity 
to rise. 

Mr. Harman was particularly happy at dinner 
that night, and he devoted much of his attention to 
his daughter, whom he delighted to tease in his 
good-natured fashion. 

“How are Parsons and Van Dyke coming on 
these days, Marie girl ? I do n’t hear much of them 
any more. Which one is in the lead according to 
the latest returns ?” 

“Now, papa, you know that neither one of them 
is in the lead. You know I think that Mr. Parsons 
is the superior character, though I will say that Mr. 
Van Dyke is not the same man he used to be. I 
never did see a greater change in a person in so 
short a time. They tell me he is actually taking in- 
terest in his father’s business, and the chances are 
in favor of his being able to relieve his father in the 
future. But these two men stand just where they 
have always stood and just where they will stand 
forever, as far as I am concerned — so there !” 


230 


POLLY 


“Well, little girl, I met a man to-day with whom 
I fell in love myself. I should think any man would 
be proud to call him son. He is not only good-look- 
ing, but good ; not only bright in his profession, but 
in many other lines. That man is going to make 
his mark, indeed has made it already. I am afraid 
that if such a man came asking for your hand I 
would have to give it; but let those other fellows 
keep their distance, I give them warning !” 

“Who is this paragon, papa?” 

“His name is Dillon Judson. He ’s the author of 
the celebrated O’Leary Papers, I am told. He 
wrote the book of the hour ; and besides, it was he 
who brought young Donald McLean back to his 
mother, when all other agencies had failed. Then 
when he wrote the story for the paper he refused to 
sign his name because he did not wish to dim the 
glory of the journal by obtruding his own person- 
ality. He ’s as modest as a maiden. His judgment 
is superb. He bought a farm recently and doubled 
his money in a few days. I wonder what a man 
like that would do in a business like mine ! I should 
like to have the opportunity to try him.” 

“Why, you are just like Polly and Mr. Parsons 
and other friends. You are all alike, but I did n’t 
think it of you. I have never met the man and I 
do n’t intend to, if I can help it. The personality 
you have all represented is an impossibility or an 
absurdity. Yet, there are so many things that have 
been said about him that attract me. If I knew that 
it was all true and that a lot of other things unpleas- 
ant in the extreme were not attached to him, I know 
I could love such a man.” And she blushed. 


CHAPTER XXIII 
the gambler’s fate 


After leaving Mr. Harman, Judson hurried over 
to the office to settle important business matters, 
thence to visit some of his proteges, who had been 
missing him sadly, and finally back to Blacksly 
street, where he found Donald, who had just re- 
turned from his conference with Mr. Harman and 
Mr. Arnold. The boy was in a mixed frame of 
mind; he was jubilant, because he was to report for 
work in the morning and because he had completed 
arrangements for a night course at school, to begin 
that same evening; he was depressed, because on 
his way home he had run across “Hank” Bardwell, 
one of the young gamblers with whom he had been 
associated for several days. He told Judson the 
reason for his feeling of depression. 

“Hank was looking pretty seedy, I can tell you. 
As soon as he saw me, dressed up in my new clothes 
and with every sign of prosperity about me, he 
brightened up and said, ‘Hello, there! still striking 
it rich, I see. Nothing like being born lucky. I 
wish we fellows had stuck to you. We never did 
have much luck till you came along that day, and 
we ’ve been down in the dumps ever since. Nothing 
doing at all. Come and help a fellow out of his 
troubles, won’t you ? I feel as if the sun was shin- 
ing once more when I see you.’ I told him, of 


232 


POLLY 


course, that I had quit that kind of business for 
good and all. He looked surprised and would 
hardly believe me at first; thought I was getting 
stuck up and would n’t run with him any more, be- 
cause I was prosperous and he was seedy. We 
walked along together till we came to the corner 
down here, where we seated ourselves on a packing- 
case and talked it out. I told him my story after we 
had parted company. You should have seen him 
open his eyes when I got up into the thousands on 
that wheat deal, but when I came to the climax he 
sobered down considerably, and at last admitted 
that I was wise to settle down to an honest business. 
He expressed the wish that he might do the same, 
but he feared he had gone too far, that something 
in him demanded the excitement. I inquired for 
the other fellows. 

“ ‘That ’s what I was thinking about when I first 
saw you,’ he said. T want you to come with me 
and see Haney Barnett.’ ‘Where is he?’ I asked. 
‘Oh, he ’s in the jug fast enough,’ was his char- 
acteristic reply. Haney Barnett was the fellow who 
undertook to mail my letter with the ten dollars, and 
of course I have always suspected that he stole it. 
I asked Hank what Haney was locked up for and 
his answer was a single word, ‘Murder!’ I told 
him I had to go home first and report to mother, 
but that I would go with him after luncheon. Be- 
fore I left him he told me Willy Watson was almost 
crazy with drink. Willy Watson was the man who 
promised to mail my second letter that morning, 
while I hurried to the bank, and who volunteered to 


THE GAMBLER’S FATE 


233 


mail in Philadelphia my third letter, written from 
New Orleans, when I was afraid for mother o 
know where I was. I requested Hank to take n»e 
to see Willy also and he agreed. I feel horribly 
about it and almost wish that I had not promised 
to go with him. It all makes me feel queer.” 

“If you do n’t mind, I will accompany you,” said 
Judson. “I am dealing with that kind of case con- 
stantly and I was told not to report for duty at the 
office till to-morrow.” 

“Are you in earnest, Mr. Judson? That takes a 
great big load off my mind. I did n’t know what 
I was going to say to those fellows, because, you 
see, I feel as if in some way I was guilty.” 

“You have no reason to feel that way, Donald. I 
think the fellows were the guilty ones. You found 
them gambling in a small way and they permitted 
you to enter the game; they took you to the slot 
machines; they conducted you to The Hollywood 
and got you into the game of poker ; they introduced 
you to the horse-race. They were the guilty ones, 
for it was all new to you and they led you on.” 

“Yes, I know that, but I gave them a taste of win- 
ning on a broader scale. Before, you see, they had 
had the usual luck ; they would win a little and lose 
a little, but kept nearly evenly balanced in the long 
run. I have no doubt they began their rapid descent 
after they had been with me.” 

At one- thirty sharp, Judson, McLean, and Hank 
Bardwell met on the corner of Blacksly and Mor- 
row streets. Hank was surprised to see a third 
party, but Donald explained that it was a friend of 


234 


POLLY 


his who had requested the privilege of accompany- 
ing them, and that if Hank did not object it would 
bje all right. 

) They were allowed to go into the cell with Haney 
''Barnett, under the strictest surveillance. Haney’s 
story, in brief, was as follows — all the little side 
questions and answers being omitted or condensed 
into a straight story, for the sake of brevity : 

He confessed first of all that he had stolen the 
letter with the ten dollars. He had never actually 
stolen before ; that is, not what he would call steal- 
ing. He had done a little “swiping.” He had 
handled very little money in his life. He had played 
a good bit in the past, but it happened had never 
been able to play heavily because he seldom won 
anything of any consideration. But that day’s suc- 
cess with the slot machines had turned his head. 
Getting money easy was too much for him. 
Henceforth, no slow methods for him. When he 
saw McLean slipping a ten-dollar bill into a letter, 
he determined to get it if he could. He was sur- 
prised at the ease with which he had obtained it. 
He had a guilty conscience, and fear lest McLean 
might suspect him kept him from returning. He 
played heavily after that and frequently lost 
heavily. He became reckless and stole money now 
and then. It seemed to him an easy thing to steal 
without being suspected, and the innocent parties 
were the ones who were getting into trouble. This 
was easier than earning money or even winning it 
in the uncertain manner of his own past experience. 


THE GAMBLER’S FATE 


235 


The easy successes in his little beginnings made it 
necessary for him to make larger efforts. He had 
by no means lost his passion for gambling, though 
he hated its uncertainties. Then he began to learn 
tricks and to practice them, first on the unwary ; but 
becoming more expert, at length he believed that in 
an evening’s play winning would be fairly certain. 
Practicing this new method, winnings became more 
certain and more considerable, but never satisfying, 
for there was always a craving for more. His win- 
nings were constantly supplemented with stolen 
money. Still, he knew that he was living on a ten- 
sion and over a smoldering volcano which was likely 
to erupt at any time. In his own words : 

“Well, I got worse and worse. I had the money 
fever, and that ’s the worst kind of fever there is, 
I ’m thinking. I ’ve had scarlet fever and typhoid 
fever, and chills and fever, in my time, but the 
money fever is a little the worst, for it won’t let up 
on a fellow. It sticks to him. It goes to bed with 
him at night, and gets up with him in the morning. 
There is n’t any getting better about it. It ’s always 
a little worse, thank you, and it will be worse to- 
morrow, and the next day, and the next week, and 
the next year, if it does n’t kill you before then, and 
I think it generally does. I had a bad case and was 
getting worse rapidly, and there was no doctor who 
understood it to treat me. The preachers do n’t 
understand it — how can they? I think I could 
preach a little myself on that text, but the people 
would n’t believe me. Well, I was never satisfied 
with my winnings, no matter how much I got. At 


236 


t>OLLY 


last I found a man who seemed to have any amount 
of money and was perfectly willing to risk it in 
play. We got to meeting night after night. It was 
fun, I can tell you, for our limit was always high. 
I played my tricks and he seemed innocent as a baby 
all the time, and I came out ahead four times out of 
five. He never lost his temper, no matter how 
heavily he lost, and though my pile was growing 
bigger than it had ever been before, still he would 
insist that we meet again. He would always de- 
mand satisfaction, but I thought I was getting all 
of the satisfaction. In fact, it was beginning to 
grow a little monotonous and I would have been 
glad if he had become tired and quit, for there was 
not quite enough spice in it to suit me. 

“The man had a room in The Hollywood, and 
for the last week we met up there with a few of his 
friends and I usually brought one or two of mine. 
Hank, here, was with me several times, though not 
on the fatal night. The last three nights we were 
together the tide began to turn. The first night I 
was a little out; the second, much more; and the 
third, things were going terribly against me. My 
little tricks were as nothing. I was a helpless mouse 
in the clutches of a powerful and remorseless cat 
that had simply been playing with me, but had at 
last grown weary and was about to finish me at 
once; I was a child permitted to think that I was 
mastering a strong man, only to wake up to the dis- 
covery that the strong man was tired of my non- 
sense and was going to break my back. Steadily 
and silently we played that last night as I realized 


THE GAMBLER’S FATE 


237 


that he was weary and was going to bring matters 
to a close. He had had enough of me. 

“When I saw the situation, first a discouraged 
feeling came over me. I wanted to cry like a baby. 
Then I was tempted to beg for mercy; but as I 
looked up into that man’s face I read that mercy 
was a stranger to him, and I knew that I deserved 
no mercy. Still we played on in silence. At last 
a hard feeling came up inside of me and that tarried. 
I arose and drained two or three glasses of straight 
whiskey and then settled down to the last heat. My 
purpose was fixed. As soon as my last dollar was 
gone, without a word of warning I was going to 
pull my revolver and kill him. I threw conse- 
quences to the winds. That was the one fixed pur- 
pose of my life. I did not care what followed. 

“The supreme moment came. My last dollar was 
gone. Without a word I drew my revolver and 
fired three times at him in cold blood. Two of the 
bullets took effect, for I was at close range, and he 
fell swooning to the floor and died in a few 
moments without regaining consciousness. 

“Then my nerve was all gone and I could not 
even run, and before I knew what had happened I 
was in the hands of the police and branded a mur- 
derer. Here I am absolutely without hope. There 
were five witnesses of the act. There was no provo- 
cation in the eyes of the law. Besides, I was so 
weak and unnerved that I made a full confession at 
once and pleaded with the police for mercy. I could 
get no bond, but I am to have my preliminary hear- 
ing to-morrow morning at nine o’clock. No, I am 


238 


POLLY 


not going to make any defense; I will let the law 
take its natural course, and the sooner it ’s over the 
better. I am here through my own fault. I am 
from a good family. My mother was a widow and 
I broke her heart because I would not do right. I 
would run at night and do everything that hurt 
her, until at last she died, and I have the conscious- 
ness that I killed her ; so you see this is not my first 
murder ; but the law could not reach me for the first 
one. After she went there was nothing to hold me, 
so I went the faster. 

“No, I do n’t want any lawyer nor any minister. 

I would not insult a minister by asking him to come 
to me. I have made light of religion all my life and 
I reckon it will be a little more manly to die the way 
I have lived. I think God must have a sort of con- 
tempt for a man who has made light of all his prof- 
fers in the days of life and hope, who turns to him 
in fear at the last moment and begs for mercy. I 
am heartily ashamed of my life and if I had it to live 
over again I would go the other way, for there is ' 
nothing in the way I have gone. Yes, come to see 
me as often as you can, boys.” 

“Mr. Judson, we ’ve let you stay here much too 
long already. It ’s only because we knew you and 
could trust you that we ’ve permitted it. Do n’t you 
think you ’ve talked long enough?” This warning 
was given by one of the keepers. After Judson 
spoke a few words of comfort in his manly way the 
trio departed. 

“That man does n’t know he has repented, but I 
would give more for his kind of repentance than the 


THE GAMBLER’S FATE 


239 


kind that comes from some of these whining- hypo- 
crites who fight the Almighty all their miserable 
lives until they know it ’s all uo with them and then 
turn to Him and cry for mercy. You can see gen- 
uine sorrow in every tone and word, but he feels the 
logic of his life and is too manly to offer the last 
worthless moments to an offended Creator.” Jud- 
son gave utterance to these words with great em- 
phasis, for he felt their truth, then lapsed into 
silence. All felt the interview keenly and few words 
were spoken as they wended their way around to 
Willy Watson’s house. 

Mrs. Watson came to the door. She was a little 
woman with evidences of hard work in the lines of 
her face and in the quality and condition of her 
clothing, though there were undoubted traces of 
refinement that had not been entirely obliterated. 
She recognized Hank at once, and perceived that the 
other two were strangers and gentlemen, so she 
courteously invited them to enter. Hank in a blunt 
way presented his two companions to her. On his 
inquiring for Willy she said, 

“So you came to see William, did you ? Well you 
can’t see him now for they have taken him away. 
He went into delirium tremens and I could do noth- 
ing with him; I was afraid he would kill me. He 
took after his father in the drink line, but he was 
always moderate and I had no fear of him, until 
about three months ago William took to gambling 
more than he had ever done before, and the more he 
gambled the more he drank, ‘to steady his nerves’ 


240 


POLLY 


he always said, and this is the result.” The tired 
woman burst into sobs, and, as they had no comfort 
they could offer, the three decorously withdrew. 

Willy Watson died that night of delirium tremens. 

Donald’s own experiences had made a lasting im- 
pression on him. He could not forget the anguish 
of those hours of aftermath in Chicago. His 
mother’s troubles had taken deep hold upon the 
young fellow. He knew that he had been the cause 
of untold suffering when she was already crushed to 
the earth. The effect of these two cases upon him 
now was tremendous. His life was sobered. He 
could not get away from the feeling that in a sense 
the sudden downfall of these two fellows could be 
traced to his door. They were on the downward 
way, it is true, but he had given them a push, the 
impetus of which carried them helplessly to the end. 
These thoughts took the boy out of him, henceforth 
he was only man. He had sense enough to know 
that he was not morally guilty, he had not caused the 
fall of his companions, for they had certainly influ- 
enced him for evil more than he had influenced 
them ; hence, while he was sobered and lost the boy 
out of him, yet down in his heart there was a song 
of thanksgiving because he had been spared the 
awful fate of the gambler. He went forth into his 
new life with a keen eye, a steady nerve, and a deter- 
mination that was like adamant, for Judson’s guess 
was correct, he had inherited his father’s will as well 
as his evil tendency. With this will he began again, 
besides other help which he had promised his mother 
he would accept. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THREE YEARS 

Three years have passed since the events recorded 
in the preceding chapter. Many things have hap- 
pened to our friends and many things of interest 
might be recorded. 

The McLeans no longer live on Blacksly street, 
nor in a tenement, nor up under a roof, hot in sum- 
mer and cold in winter — much to the regret of their 
many friends in the old neighborhood, to whom this 
family had become a source of inspiration ; not that 
they wished their friends ill luck, but that for their 
own sakes they could not bear to see them depart. 
Mrs. McLean had become, all unconsciously to her- 
self, a tender mother-superior to the whole house, 
to whom all came for comfort, help, and advice; 
and Polly had become the animated sunshine of the 
place, and she shone from street’s end to street’s end 
and into many darkened corners where little light 
of any kind ever penetrated. 

It was pleasant for these unfortunate people to 
know at the same time that Mrs. McLean and Polly 
felt genuine sorrow when the time for departure 
actually arrived — for they had gotten beneath the 
crust and loved their neighbors. But prospects for 
the forsaken street were brighter than they had been 
before. A young man had settled there as one of the 
people, winning every one by his winsome, manly 
16 


242 


POLLY 


ways. These poor folk, who had felt that they had 
a perpetual quarrel with the Church, permitted this 
man to live and preach the Gospel among them 
without perfectly understanding what he was doing. 
He was not a preacher in their eyes, but one of 
themselves, who loved them, lived with them, and 
taught them tenderly things that they had not 
known, or had forgotten. There had been progress 
in other directions as well, and rumor had it that the 
street was to be transformed physically, and that 
large, airy, sanitary homes, some day in the future, 
were to take the places of the present unhealthful 
and uncomfortable structures. 

On the other hand, Donald and the twins felt no 
twinges of regret in leaving a place that had always 
been distasteful to them and had only served as a 
dismal reminder of their oppressive poverty around 
which nothing but the saddest memories clustered. 
They never had entered into the spirit of their sur- 
roundings like mother and sister had done. 

Their new home was on one of those beautiful 
new streets of modest but artistic houses which are 
being planned and established in most of our large 
cities. This modern home street ordinarily is 
neither broad nor long, but well-paved, and as 
smooth and clean as our grandmother’s old white 
kitchen table. The houses are not large, but ornate 
and self-respecting, so to speak. The result is 
pleasing in the extreme. Into these homes wage- 
earners and men with modest means bring their 
families. Expenses are not high, all the modern 
conveniences are enjoyed, and the atmosphere, both 


THREE YEARS 


243 


physical and moral, is sweeter than that breathed 
in the ordinary flat into which the families of 
meager or moderate means are often compelled to 
crowd. Chester avenue was only two blocks in 
length, but it was paved with asphaltum, and the 
houses, built well back in beautiful green lawn nests, 
were of red and buff brick, with architecture so 
attractive and varied that the result, when viewed as 
a single picture, was artistic. In one of these 
houses the McLeans had been settled nearly two 
years — two happy years! 

It is doubtful whether Polly was any happier here 
than she had been on Blacksly street, because Polly 
did not depend on her surroundings for her happi- 
ness. She had a well-spring of it which she always 
carried with her, which was as available in the storm 
as in the sunlight; in the darkness as in the day; 
in Blacksly street as in Chester avenue. She had a 
philosophy in her little heart that thousands of 
grown people never learn. She was happy though, 
those first few weeks in her new home, as she flitted 
from room to room, and out in the flower garden. 
One day when she came across her mother in the 
latter place she exclaimed, 

“Well, Muzzer, I am very happy here, but not 
one bit happier than I was before. I have been 
thinking that the ‘happy’ is not on the outside at 
all, but on the inside. If you ’ve got it on the inside 
you ’ll carry it with you wherever you go; if you 
have n’t got it there it ’s pretty hard to find, and I 
guess some people hunt it all their lives everywhere 
and never come across it,” 


244 


POLLY 


“Bless your dear heart, you little philosopher; 
you have learned the sweet secret and you have the 
‘happy’ inside of you all the time.” 

Mr. Harman had taken Donald into his business 
with no sign of favor. His place had been a lowly 
one and his wages meager, but they were sufficient 
to meet the immediate necessities of the family. In 
the mean time, Mrs. McLean, because of the impor- 
tunity of Mr. Harman and because of her solicitude 
for her children, had permitted that gentleman, for 
the while, to provide for the education of the twins 
and Polly. This he did in memory of, and as a 
token of respect for, his old friend their father. 

Donald had been studying at night, principally 
book-keeping and accounts; later, stenography and 
typewriting, and last of all a course in commercial 
law. Besides all this, he made it the point of his 
life to study the business with which he was con- 
nected. He kept his eyes and ears wide open all the 
time. He was never ashamed to ask questions con- 
cerning fabrics and prices, and before long he began 
to be familiar with these things, and in time, ex- 
pert. He read all the technical books he could lay 
his hands on which touched any part of the business. 
He was careful to associate with those who knew 
any part of the affairs of the house. Besides this 
he soon discovered that there were two classes of 
employees in the place — one class, the members of 
which were working solely for wages, that is, for 
themselves. It was the point of every day that they 
should not do any more than absolutely necessary 


THREE YEARS 


245 


and, if possible, to let a good many things which 
they might do be done by others. The other class, 
the members of which were working primarily for 
the house. They did not count the hours nor the 
minutes. They were always willing and anxious to 
do something to advance the interests of the concern 
even in the smallest ways. It did not take many 
months to discover that the advances were made 
from the second class and that when men were 
dropped they were usually dropped from the first 
class. Hence he made up his mind to put himself 
heart and soul into the second class. 

The first year he was advanced two or three 
times, but to nothing remarkable. It was not till 
the middle of the second year that the work he had 
been doing began to show itself. One morning a 
very important man was detained by sickness and it 
was an especially important day. On inquiry it 
seemed at first that no one was able or willing to 
take his place. Donald chanced to hear the con- 
versation between the heads of departments while 
he was about his own tasks, and immediately offered 
his services as naturally as if he had been accus- 
tomed to that specialty all his days. The men were 
taken back by his offer, the first effect of which was 
silence, followed by a hearty laugh at what seemed 
to them almost an impertinent jest. But when 
Donald assured them that he was not joking, but in 
strictest earnest, and that he knew what he was talk- 
ing about, he was put to the test, and to the surprise 
of all was not found wanting. It was not many 
weeks later when a similar difficulty arose in another 


246 


POLLY 


department. One of the men in a spirit of mischief 
proposed Donald, and before he could explain that 
he was not in earnest the young man had been sent 
for. When the case was presented to him he ac- 
cepted the situation with all gravity, much to the 
astonishment of all. It came to pass by the end of 
the second year that he was recognized as a general 
emergency man. If any one was sick or on a vaca- 
tion, Donald seemed to be the only man who was 
able to fill creditably any position in the establish- 
ment. One day he was nominated by some one to 
fill an absent stenographer’s place. The motive for 
this was undoubtedly jealousy. No one in the store 
knew that he had been studying stenography and 
typewriting. When Donald arrived on the scene he 
accepted the position as if he had been accustomed 
to that kind of work all his life. 

By the end of the third year he was buying goods 
for a certain important department, and was hon- 
ored by the whole house. Yet he was not consid- 
ered a brilliant young man in any sense of the word. 
He had simply learned, somehow, — a great secret 
that comparatively few ever discover, — that success 
in any line depends upon consecration. He had lit- 
erally adopted the whole vast business from the start 
and made it all his own, and poured his best self into 
it without stint. 

He had completely conquered his tendency to 
gamble. Of course, this was not the work of an 
hour or a day. An appetite born in a man and 
given full swing for a season is not killed in a mo- 
ment. He began by acknowledging himself beaten, 


THREE YEARS 


247 


then he kept himself from temptation by filling up 
every minute of his day with interesting business, 
and he was not too proud to accept help from any 
source, from the lowest to the highest, and he kept 
ever before him the miseries and woes of that one 
memorable lapse. 

Donald McLean, at the age of twenty-two, was a 
staid man of business and the support and pride of 
his family. It is a pleasure to record one happy 
outcome in connection with the appetite for gam- 
bling when most of them must be written the other 
way. As a rule the will is impaired and the victim 
finds nothing in himself to counteract the force of 
the awful gnawing within. 

To sum it all up, Harrison Harman himself said 
of the man who was soon to take Mr. Arnold’s place, 
made vacant by the ill-health and absence in the 
West of that important man, 

“Donald McDonald McLean is absolutely trust- 
worthy !” 


chapter XXV 


AUNT HETTIE 

Other things worthy of record have been happen- 
ing these three years, an incidental reference to some 
of which must be made. 

Stryker, the managing editor of The Panorama, 
was a bachelor, and by his many friends it was taken 
for granted that this was to be his estate in life to 
the end. He had a story that he never told — a love 
story all his own — which only served to make him 
the more fascinating to certain members of society. 
And while he was a stern master at the office, whom 
all feared, it was thus because of necessity. It re- 
quires a man of granite and iron to manage suc- 
cessfully a great metropolitan journal. His heart 
was nevertheless in the right place — a commonplace 
way of saying that he was tender and sympathetic. 
When he threw off his office coat and donned his 
Prince Albert and shiny stove-pipe hat and started 
for the street, he was another man. He was ap- 
proachable, sympathetic, and often, in his own way, 
familiar. But when he reached the corner of his 
bachelor quarters that several of them inhabited 
together, and lighted his gas log, when his feet were 
in the dilapidated slippers, down at the heel, and his 
arms in the well-worn smoking- jacket, and when 
the old pipe was between his teeth, then — he was 
somewhat different. A dreamy look came into his 


AUNT HETTIE 


249 


eyes as he settled back in the old armchair, and he 
became as gentle and tender as a woman, and his 
voice was soft and winsome. 

A very old friend who sat one evening on the 
other side of the fire became bold enough to ask the 
reason for this marked change in himself. He was 
caught unawares, his eyes filled up, his voice choked 
as he said, 

“I can’t help it. When I get away from busi- 
ness my mind goes back to her. I seem to see her 
sweet form hovering near, hear her musical voice, 
feel her gentle touch. God took her — she was too 
good, too holy, too spiritual for any mortal; and 
who was I ? that I should aspire. But I would not 
lose out of my life her brief stay therein for all the 
world contains. It is her memory that keeps me 
and beckons me, and when I get away from business 
I try to follow, and that is the reason I am a differ- 
ent man.” 

And the lonely dreamer settled back again with 
the mist swimming in his eyes and with the sweet, 
childlike, solemn look on his face that plainly said 
he had forgotten his guest and gone back many 
years; the present was naught, the past was real, 
and he was holding sweet converse with one who 
lived and loved. For an hour his considerate and 
sympathetic friend sat on the other side of the fire 
and watched him, while his own heart yearned in 
pity over the lonely man, and he came out of that 
vigil, as he himself said, a holier man. There were 
two different Strykers — the man of business, stern 


250 


POLLY 


and uncompromising, often rough; and this lonely 
dreamer of the past. 

Stryker, like Judson, was not given to society, 
but for different reasons — he had society of his own, 
concerning which the world knew nothing, and he 
was satisfied. But while he was walking down 23d 
street one day in great haste on important business, 
with his mind intent on the matter before him, — of 
vital interest to the paper that he sometimes jest- 
ingly called his wife, — he was jostled by the throng, 
and in endeavoring to extricate himself came face 
to face, for a single instant, with a woman who 
startled him as he had not been startled since the 
days of his childhood. The woman was tall and 
slender, with a face of the sweetest dignity and 
calmness, and so spirituelle, withal, that, a moment 
after, he was not certain whether he had seen “flesh 
and blood’' or a spirit. 

“My God !” was the exclamation of surprise that 
escaped from his lips, that were never profane. A 
more emphatic pallor was manifest upon the 
woman’s fair face. It was an instant’s glimpse and 
then the crowd and rush again. But business was 
forgotten and that face became the most real thing 
in the universe to the lonely man. 

That night as he sat at lunch with Judson and 
Parsons in their little up-town retreat, away from 
the places most frequented by newspaper men, he 
said, 

“I must speak of something to you fellows that 
has been too sacred for me to touch heretofore ; but 
now I must have help and comfort and I know of 


AUNT HETTIE 


251 


no one whom I can more implicitly trust than you 
fellows.” 

“Thanks, old man,” was Parsons’s rejoinder, 
while Judson quietly took the hand of his friend and 
gave it a grip that spoke volumes. 

“You fellows have guessed, or know from little 
things that I have let slip, that I was once engaged 
to be married. The girl was one of the sweetest 
and loveliest that ever lived. She was too good for 
this sphere and God took her. It left my heart sad 
and alone. But in time I became accustomed to 
my sadness and grew jealous of my lonesomeness — 
I even felt a species of joy in it, for in some way it 
seemed that I communed with the one I loved. I 
might have continued thus till I was ready to join 
her if it had not been for something that occurred 
to-day, the meaning of which I am unable to 
fathom.” 

Here the good fellow choked up, in a mannish 
sort of a way, and was not able to continue for sev- 
eral minutes. At last he mastered himself and said, 

“Do you men believe in spirits? Well, I never 
did either; but if I did not see the spirit of Dora 
to-day, then I must have been in a walking dream. 
While I was rushing down some street or other, for 
the life of me I can’t say which one it was, only that 
it was crowded, on some important business, which 
I have been unable to recall since, I came to a halt 
for a single moment before a woman who was the 
perfect image of my Dora, except of course that she 
was older and with an expression of sadness on her 
face that Dora never wore. Her hair was beauti- 


252 


POLLY 


fully whitened as if by the first touch of an early 
frost. I am not ashamed to tell you fellows that 
this appearance completely knocked me out and I 
have not even yet been able to recover myself. 
After staggering around for a while like one in- 
toxicated, I rushed madly back and forth and in 
and out in the vain endeavor to see that face again.” 

“You may rest assured that the vision you saw 
was in the flesh, old man,” was Judson’s comment 
on the incident. 

“I should say that it was, Stryker! You have 
made me think of some one. I wonder if I have a 
clue! Describe the lady to me if you can,” the 
other friend exclaimed. 

“You may well say ‘if you can/ Can a man de- 
scribe a sunbeam ? Can a man describe a moonlight 
night? Can a man describe the visions of his soul 
that draw him Godward? There are some things 
that words fail to touch. I believe it would be 
easier to describe an angel. To put it in cold words, 
the best I can, she was tall and slender and possessed 
of queenly grace. She was a blonde of the purest 
type, for her face was fair and her blue eyes im- 
pressed themselves on the sensitive plate of my heart 
and, as I said, her hair was whitish, indicative of the 
flight of time. I can not depict her features, I 
never could find language for such things, but the 
expression was one of ineffable sweetness, mingled 
with a suggestion of sadness and loneliness. There 
was plenty of dignity too, but softened by unmis- 
takable signs of kindliness and humanity. It was 
an artist’s dream — that face. Dressed? How 


AUNT HETTIE 


253 


could I say how she was dressed ? I was lost in the 
face — and yet, there was perfect harmony, I know, 
faultless taste — and hold ! I believe the color of 
the gown that encased that form was somber — yes, 
I think it was gray. And now I recall another 
item — as she lifted her left arm in a peculiar gesture, 
as if in defense, there flashed from the ring-finger 
of the ungloved hand the light from a gem of rare 
beauty and brilliance that made me think instantly 
of another I myself had purchased years ago that 
was worn a little while by — ” 

“See here, Stryker, I know that woman, and she 
is not a spirit either. I could not mistake her now, 
and her name is not Dora. Indeed, I am not cer- 
tain what her first name is, but her intimate friends 
all call her ‘Aunt Hettie.’ I suppose it must be 
Hester. Her last name is Harman and she is the 
maiden sister of Harrison Harman and, of course, 
Miss Marie Harman’s aunt, which explains the 
‘Aunt Hettie.’ This young niece is the one who 
has broken so many hearts, — my own among the 
number, the worse luck! — and whom this young 
woman-hater here, Judson, steadfastly refuses to 
meet, in spite of my persistent efforts to that end. I 
love the girl to distraction, but since there is no hope 
for me, I wanted Jud here to come in and take her, 
as I know he would if he ever had a fair chance. 
She is the kind of girl who shies at any one who 
seems to be attracted toward her. If ever she came 
across the phenomenon of an indifferent man, she 
would be drawn to him at once. But forgive me, 
Stryker, my head is so light that it is only natural 


254 


POLLY 


that I should forget you and your affairs the mo- 
ment a shadow of my own looms into view. Aunt 
Hettie Harman is a saint on earth and she presides 
over the Harman mansion with grace and dignity, 
and, say! old fellow, how would you like to call? 
The whole family have warmed up to me, since — 
since — since I came in contact with Jud here and 
began to live a truer life. I am a welcome guest 
there now at any time, a kind of older brother to the 
girl — bad cess to it !” 

“All right, Revvy,” was Stryker’s response in a 
weak and unnatural tone of voice, “I just want to 
see if you are right.” 

That same afternoon Aunt Hettie came home 
unusually pale and nervous. Marie was solicitous, 
and, after she got her aunt into bed, she seated her- 
self by her side and, taking the aristocratic white 
hand into her own, said coaxingly, 

“Tell me all about it, auntie dear.” 

“There is n’t very much to tell, dear. Indeed, 
you will think it silly I know, and feel that your 
aunt is fast entering her dotage ; but you can’t un- 
derstand what a shock it all was to me and how 
completely unnerved I was. I was out shopping as 
you know ; I had just come out of your papa’s store, 
and as I was only going into Martin’s, of course I 
did not trouble myself to take the carriage for that 
short distance. The crowd was quite dense and I 
was jostled a little, and thereby was brought face to 
face with a man who was the perfect image of my 
dear George. You can’t imagine how I felt, I 


AUNT HETTIE 


255 


thought that I must faint. I do not know what the 
man could have thought, for I am certain that he 
saw the look of surprise and fear in my face and 
I know I raised my arm as if in self-defense, and I 
think a little cry escaped me. Of course I entertain 
no feeling of superstition. I know George has been 
gone these many years, and this was solid flesh that 
confronted me. But the coincidence in likeness was 
most wonderful. It was George to perfection, only 
older, of course. It is hard to get away from the 
feeling that the veil has been lifted for a moment and 
that I have been permitted once again to see my be- 
loved. I know that is not the case, but I can not get 
away from the feeling. I have never been so weak 
and lifeless as I am now.” 

The evening following the event just narrated 
Mr. Parsons was the caller, and in the course of 
general conversation, all the family being present, 
he said, 

“By the way, I have a favor to request. First, I 
will tell you about a particular friend of mine in 
whom I am much interested and for whom I feel 
considerable concern. He is living a hum-drum 
kind of life, without society or relaxation. He 
goes home from his office all alone and sits alone 
when he gets there. He is one of the brightest and 
most successful men in his line, and a perfect gentle- 
man. My fear is that he is killing himself. It is 
my desire to help him that prompts this request. 
Could I bring him to call some evening, informally, 


256 


POLLY 


when nothing is on, to enjoy the society of all of 
you? I will stand for him.” 

“Who is this friend of yours ?” Mr. Harman most 
naturally inquired. 

“It is William P. Stryker, managing editor of 
The Panorama , the man who has done more than 
any other to make that paper what it is to-day.” 

“Why, yes, certainly; I know Stryker in a busi- 
ness way. He ’s all right, only I have always 
thought him to be a strict and even hard business 
man, who saw nothing but The Panorama by day 
and dreamed nothing else by night. I know he has 
the reputation of making the boys stand around, and 
I know he contributes his share in making a mag- 
nificent paper — with all due regards to The Gleam. 
But outside of business I have always understood 
that he was more or less of a stick — a typical old 
bachelor.” 

“Oh, you do not know him, sir, and I am afraid 
there are very few who do, for he is not the kind of 
man who permits many to get close to him. He 
is a business man hard and strict, it is true, but the 
boys love him for all that and will take anything 
from him, for he has a generous and tender heart, 
and I could tell you stories of him out of office that 
would move you I know. But I want him to 
prove himself. He is not a young man any more, 
but all the better for that in many ways, and you 
will find him pure gold. May I bring him?” 

“Yes, do!” exclaimed both the ladies in a breath. 
The picture had attracted them. 


AUNT HETTIE 


257 


“I am sure he will be a welcome novelty,” ven- 
tured Miss Marie. 

“Why, yes, bring him along, to be sure. I have 
no objections in the least. I should like to know the 
man better. If he is anything like that other man 
Judson whom I have met several times in the last 
few years, he is all right.” It was a foregone con- 
clusion that Mr. Harman would not object to any- 
thing that his ladies wished. 

So it was arranged that on Friday night of the 
next week, if it were possible, Mr. Parsons was to 
present Mr. Stryker at the Harman house. 

Before this evening call was terminated Mr. Har- 
man excused himself to meet a business engagement, 
and presently Aunt Hettie was called away to the 
telephone to answer for her brother. Parsons took 
advantage of the situation. 

“Just what I wanted, Miss Harman, a single mo- 
ment with you alone. Mr. Stryker is a bachelor be- 
cause he lost by death, years ago, his fiancee. His 
heart was buried with the maid. But yesterday a 
strange thing happened. He was walking along a 
crowded thoroughfare when suddenly he was con- 
fronted by a woman whom he declared to be the 
image of his departed sweetheart. You can have no 
idea what an impression it made on him; the like- 
ness must have been most striking. But that is not 
the remarkable feature of the event. He described 
the lady minutely and I am morally certain that it 
could have been no other than your own Aunt Het- 
tie.” 


17 


258 


POLLY 


“Why, Mr. Parsons, that is the most wonderful 
thing I have ever heard in my life ! It is simply be- 
yond comprehension ! Aunt Hettie came home last 
night completely unnerved. She had been walking 
from papa’s store down the crowded street toward 
Martin’s, when suddenly she was confronted by a 
man so much like the fiance of her girlhood, who 
died on the eve of the day that was to have made 
them one for life. The likeness must have been 
striking, for she came home looking as if she had 
seen a ghost.” 

“Well, that does beat everything! I should be 
afraid to put that in print lest I should be charged 
with drawing the long bow. There can be no doubt 
that truth is stranger than fiction. You see I was 
right. Stryker met your Aunt Hettie and each saw 
in the other something that suggested the dear one 
lost. I want to know two things, when they get to- 
gether will they see the same likeness that they 
thought they recognized on the street? and if they 
do, will others who knew the departed ones in life 
see it? But here comes the lady herself.” 

“Telephones are the most vexing things ever in- 
vented! Sometimes I wish we could get along in 
the good old way without them. A person who calls 
at your door is deferential, and if you are busy or 
have company he will retire with the promise to call 
again. But the same person at the telephone thinks 
he has precedence over everything else, business, 
company, dinner, or what not. Some persons will 
never entrust a message to a servant. Oh, I do wish 
that some one would write a book containing a code 


AUNT HETTIE 


259 


of manners for the use of the telephone. Then I 
wish that it would be against the law to put a ’phone 
in any house before the inhabitants thereof had read 
the book and passed an examination on it. Then 
three reported infractions should be sufficient for a 
reprimand from the President of the United States, 
published in at least one hundred first-class papers 
and magazines; six infractions should be sufficient 
to send a man to the penitentiary; and three more 
after his release, should be sufficient to have the 
’phone removed forever!” 

“Why, Aunt Hettie, that does not sound a bit 
like you. I did not know it was possible for you to 
be as ferocious as all that. You must have been hav- 
ing some dreadful experience !” 

“No, nothing worse than I have nearly every day 
of my life. The telephone is my nightmare. I am 
never free from the sense of its impending imperti- 
nence. You will pardon this outburst, Mr. Parsons, 
I have a perennial quarrel with the telephone. It is 
a nerve-racker and a peace-destroyer. It is a school- 
house for bad manners, and the American people 
were well drilled in them before it came!” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A TRUE EOVE STORY 

Friday night arrived and the way was open for 
Stryker to make his call. Parsons had been care- 
ful not to say anything to his friend in regard to the 
other side of the double coincidence, and Miss Marie 
had been just as careful with her aunt, so that there 
was no reason for nervousness on the part of either 
in anticipation of the proposed call, and no reason 
whatever for self-consciousness. 

About half-past eight the bell rang and the two 
gentlemen were ushered into the drawing-room. 
Presently, Mr. Harman entered and greeted his 
guests cordially, and a little later the ladies followed. 
Aunt Hettie Harman, accustomed to the best society 
from her childhood, found herself in a more trying 
situation than had ever been her lot before. When 
she discovered that Mr. Stryker was the man who 
had caused her such a shock, and when she saw in 
the full incandescence of the electric light that the 
hasty impression first formed stood confirmed and 
strengthened, it required all the will power she pos- 
sessed to control herself and to present to her guests 
the calm and courteous exterior that society re- 
quired. 

Stryker had been accustomed to rubbing up 
against all classes of people and all sorts of circum- 
stances all his life, but when he discovered that Par- 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


261 


sons had been correct in his surmise and that this 
was the lady whom he had seen on the street, the 
living image of his lost lady, — he himself had been 
incredulous, — he turned red in the face and stam- 
mered out something without any coherence. Par- 
sons nobly came to the rescue and covered the con- 
versational retreat of his friends with the great guns 
of the art of which he was master. 

It did not require much time, however, for the 
two distracted people to regain their self-possession, 
and it was not a great while before things were run- 
ning smoothly. Indeed, Mr. Harman had not 
ticed that anything was wrong. Only those most 
interested had seen and felt it. 

Aunt Hettie had gotten a large portfolio of re- 
cent engravings and was displaying them to Mr. 
Stryker, and that gentleman, who was a connois- 
seur in such things, was talking brilliantly of art 
and artists. All restraint had vanished and they 
were conversing as if they had been old acquaint- 
ances. The rest of the company had worked them- 
selves toward the other end of the room, having 
gone to look at a new picture by an artist whose 
name had been mentioned by the two with the port- 
folio. They had come near a door that led from 
the drawing-room into the conservatory. Miss Ma- 
rie said, as she looked toward this door, 

“There is a night-blooming cereus just putting 
out, Mr. Parsons. Would you not like to see it?” 

“Yes, come and see it, Mr. Parsons; it is worth 
while,” added Mr. Harman, who was on the point of 


262 


POLLY 


calling the others when he was checked in time by a 
significant pull on his coat from his daughter. 

When they had entered the conservatory Mr. 
Harman turned to the young lady and asked, 

“What in the world is the matter, little girl? 
Why did you not wish me to invite the others with 
us ; it does not look courteous ?” 

“Why, papa, I know they are just dying to be 
alone a few moments, and I am only afraid that 
they are so absorbed in their pictures that they will 
not discover our departure. They remind me of 
two children. Oh! I forgot. You do n’t know. 
Why, that is the man Aunt Hettie nearly ran into 
one day last week, you remember, and nearly went 
to pieces afterward because she was reminded of 
‘her George.’ But the other side is equally wonder- 
ful. Mr. Stryker was nearly beside himself because 
the lady he nearly ran into (Aunt Hettie) was a 
perfect image of the sweetheart he lost many year,s 
ago. Now they are together, I am just certain they 
will want to talk it out and ask questions. Do you 
think he looks like the man who was to have been 
my Uncle George?” 

“The whole thing is remarkable. When you first 
spoke I was of the opinion that Mr. Stryker did not 
look any more like George deMaris than I do, but I 
had forgotten for the moment the flight of time. 
On more mature consideration, I believe there is a 
suggestion of likeness about the eyes. I should not 
wonder if George in growing older might not 
have developed into a man something like Mr. Stry- 
ker. But you see it takes her eyes to catch it. You 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


263 


see as Hester has grown older she has pictured her 
George to herself as he would be if he had lived, 
and I have no doubt that our friend Stryker resem- 
bles her mental picture. Or perhaps the spirit is 
very much alike and she was enabled to catch a 
glimpse of it down through his eyes. ,, 

“I think there is something of truth in both your 
suggestions, papa. In order that they may know 
that they are alone, and to relieve us of the appear- 
ance of discourtesy at the same time, before we look 
at the bloom I will slip back and tell them that we 
have gone into the conservatory for a moment !” 

******** 

“I did not say a word to them. They were so 
occupied with their own things that they did not 
know there was another person in the world, so I 
slipped quietly out, for I did not want to call them 
back.” 

In the other room there was not nearly so much 
absorption as was supposed. Aunt Hettie, like most 
women, could see out of the corners of her eyes, and 
she knew when they were alone and she knew when 
Marie came back and then slipped away again. The 
moment she was sure they were alone she began, 

“Mr. Stryker I have a word of apology to offer 
that I believe I owe myself. I was jostled by the 
crowd one day last week and was involuntarily 
thrust in front of you, though I did not know who 
you were at the time — of course you do not remem- 
ber it — but if you do, you will recall how strangely 


264 


POLLY 


I acted. I must have looked as if I had seen a 
ghost, and indeed I felt that way — not that you are 
in any sense ghostly, Mr. Stryker; but you re- 
minded me of a friend of mine — I know that you 
will pardon me that too when you hear it all. I 
do n’t like to be told that I look like people myself, 
it makes me feel so commonplace — I say you re- 
minded me of a friend of mine, a friend who died 
more than fifteen years ago, and the resemblance 
was so striking that I nearly fainted on the spot. 
I am so glad to have the opportunity to explain, for 
my behavior must have seemed strange to say the 
least.” 

“Miss Harman, I can hardly believe my ears! 
That is the most wonderful thing I ever knew ! 
When I nearly ran over you the other day, I was 
almost driven distracted and I have been unable to 
regain my normal condition since, for you are the 
perfect image of a very dear friend of mine whom 
I lost some sixteen years ago. I may add that she 
was my fiancee and we were to have been married 
soon. It was as if I had a sudden glimpse of the 
dear departed. Tennyson’s words have been ring- 
ing in my ears ever since : 

“ ‘O for the touch of a vanished hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still.’ ” 

“Well! It grows more and more wonderful. I 
have read of coincidences but never of one to equal 
this. I did not intend to mention it, but your frank- 
ness emboldens me. My friend of whom I spoke, 
of whom you remind me, the more since I am able 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


265 


to look down into your eyes and hear the tones of 
your voice, that friend was my fiance, and he died 
on the eve of the very day that was to have been the 
day of days. Can you wonder that I was startled 
and unnerved?” 

“Hearing your recital and looking at you as you 
sit there, almost obliterates the years that have in- 
tervened as with a single sweep, and I can imagine 
that death never came in between us but that things 
are as they were and that it is Dora here. Forgive 
me, I did not intend to put it that way. Tell you 
about Dora? I do not mind telling you, but it will 
be the first time I have told it. Since our friends 
seem to have forgotten us, I will tell you now. 

“Dora Hathaway was a country girl. Her 
parents moved to the city when she was about fifteen 
years of age, and while she became accustomed to 
city ways rapidly and, as she grew older, began to 
shine in its best society, she never lost the sweet at- 
mosphere of the country. It was as good as a holi- 
day trip out to the woods and fields to be in her 
presence one hour. There was something about her 
that breathed purity and sweetness, a suggestion of 
pine trees and sweet-briar, and trailing arbutus, of 
new-mown hay and clover blossoms and old- 
fashioned gardens. Though she was thoroughly 
acquainted with the ways of the world, yet in her 
presence one could never get away from the idea 
that she was a child, so innocent was she and free 
from everything that taints. Men admired her and 
worshiped her from a distance, but they were afraid 
of her. She seemed so holy to the ordinary man 


266 


POLLY 


that there was a wall about her through which he 
dared not break his way. Thus she grew to be 
twenty-one years of age without ever being asso- 
ciated with any one man in particular in any one’s 
thoughts or gossip. She was acquainted with a 
great many men and was thrown in general society 
with them, and they paid her all the homage and 
rendered her all the courtesies which society men 
are accustomed to render to fair women, but no one 
of them ever kept company with her, ever ‘went 
with her,’ as we sometimes put it in homely lan- 
guage. To tell the truth, they were afraid of her. 
They did not feel comfortable, they were ill at ease, 
her very presence was a rebuke to everything that 
was unholy. 

“I know that was the way I felt toward her, and 
I heard other young men expressing themselves in 
a similar manner. I always felt how little and un- 
holy I was, when she was near, and never was 
perfectly at my ease. It happened that my father 
and her father had been intimately associated to- 
gether in business matters and the two families were 
close in social affairs. My parents died one after 
the other in quick succession. I was twenty-five 
years of age and earning a good living, but was 
most miserable in my boarding-place, after losing 
my home. No one ever loved home more than I 
did, yet I have been destined to pass the most of 
my life without one. These dear people, out of love 
for my parents and pity for me, whom they well 
knew, invited me to make their house my home. Of 
course I was to be a boarder, but what they termed 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


267 


a home-boarder ; that is, I was to be like one of the 
family. But there was an obstacle that made me 
hesitate long before accepting, and that was Dora. 
I was clearly afraid of her. But my good friends 
were persistent and my boarding-house became 
more and more intolerable, and so at last I yielded. 

“How comfortable they made me feel ! And yet 
how little they did, apparently, to make me feel that 
way. At first I saw little of Dora, only in the 
morning at breakfast and in the evening at dinner. 
But there she was, sitting opposite me with her 
atmosphere of sweetness and purity. I tell you I 
went out from there with a benediction upon me that 
kept me from many of the evil ways of the city! 
There were flowers on the table and always a little 
bouquet in my room, breathing out its sweetness 
and making me think of her whose thoughtfulness 
caused them to be placed for me. A year passed 
away and I had never yet been alone with her, had 
never conversed with her except in a general way 
at the table and infrequently of an evening when 
company was present. I was very busy and my 
work often kept me out late at night. She moved 
in her circle of society, of which I was not a part, 
except sometimes by courtesy because I was a mem- 
ber of the same household. I felt that I knew her 
no better than I did in the beginning, that I had 
gotten no closer to her. It was the safest way for a 
young woman and a young man to live under the 
same roof together, if they did not wish to fall in 
love. If the parents had ever entertained any fear 


268 


POLLY 


on that score, their minds must have been set at rest 
long ago. 

“Yet, gradually and imperceptibly that girl began 
to find a way into my heart. I was not conscious 
of it for a long time. Then I began to discover 
that often when I awoke in the morning it would 
be with a particularly happy feeling, and then 
that it was because I had been dreaming of 
Dora, had been with her in the realms of dreams 
and had been at peace. These night dreams little 
by little turned into day dreams. My mind would 
often leave its task and go bounding off to her. 
And yet in my boldest dreams I had never gone 
farther than simply get into her presence, bask in 
the sunshine of her countenance, feel the magic of 
her atmosphere. Strange to say, I never thought 
of bringing these dreams into reality; that is, I 
never thought of seeking her out and of actually 
getting into her company. If there came a sugges- 
tion of such a thought it must have been driven off 
at once. Thus time went on for another year, my 
mind full of Dora, but my eyes beholding her no 
oftener than before. 

“But one day something called me home sooner 
than usual. I do not recall what it was, only that 
as I entered the front door something impelled me 
to enter the parlor. The room was so darkened, 
that coming in as I had from the bright sunlight I 
could see nothing at all at first. Yielding to a sense 
of lassitude I threw myself into the arms of a great 
chair that seemed to invite me, and closed my eyes 
for a few moments. Hearing a slight rustling noise 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


269 


and a suggestion of a sigh, I looked over into the 
far corner of the room, and there, in a little low 
seat built into the wall and piled up with cushions, 
was Dora in a little heap, her face buried in a 
cushion. She had neither seen nor heard me and 
was unconscious of my presence. Dora evidently 
sought this place in order to be alone, hence I must 
get out as quietly as I could. It seemed to me 
almost as if I were committing sacrilege to be there 
in that presence. I arose with great care, and was 
about to creep out stealthily, when in my clumsi- 
ness my foot struck the chair, making a clear and 
distinct sound. I do not suppose that it could have 
been very loud but the silence emphasized it. The 
head in the pillows looked up. The eyes were red, 
there were evidences of recent tears. ‘Oh, it is you, 
is it?’ she said wearily as she arose and, in that 
deftly graceful way that seems to be a part of the 
nature of all attractive women, shook her garments 
into place. ‘You are home at an unusual hour. Is 
there anything I can do for you?’ I was in one of 
my beautiful dreams, surely not awake, or I would 
never have had the temerity to do what I did. I 
walked over to where she was standing and, though 
I had not been conscious of the fact, I believe that I 
spoke the truth when I said, ‘Dora, I am hungry 
and thirsty for you. I came home because there 
was an irresistible tugging at my heart by some 
magnet, the force of whose power heretofore I have 
been unwilling to acknowledge, but which at last 
overcame me. Dora, it is you that I want, and the 
only thing you can do for me is to let me have you. 


270 


POLLY 


It may be hard at first, but henceforth I shall be so 
good to you that perhaps it will come easy. Dora, 
I love you !’ It had come upon me with overwhelm- 
ing force, what I had not confessed to myself before, 
and it seemed as if my heart would beat its way 
through its rib-bound prison-house. 

“I sat down on the little couch and pulled her 
down beside me and pressed her to me. She placed 
her head on my shoulder and wept. ‘Is it true?' 
she asked, ‘or am I dreaming ? My heart has grown 
so weary and you have ever been so cold and distant. 
I did not know that you ever looked at me. I can 
not make you understand how hard it was for me. 
It was the fight of my life to act as properly as you 
did and never permit a sign of my feelings to escape 
me. I was so weary with it all this morning, and 
came in here to weep, it was so dark and cool and 
inviting; and while I was here I breathed a little 
prayer to God for you, that you might learn some 
time to love me/ 

“I was the happiest man that ever lived. The sun 
shone brighter, the whole world was more beautiful. 
It seemed to me that my heart had expanded and I 
was already a broader and better man, and I thought 
that I loved everybody in the whole world because 
of my love for Dora. We were engaged. It was 
to be a short time, for there was no reason for a 
long wait. I was able to support her, and all the 
time that was needed was for the preparations. 
Those three months were the happiest of my whole 
life. That girl was radiant. She looked at me 
through colored glasses and she thought me every- 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


271 


thing that was noble and good, and I did all that 
was in me to make her thoughts concerning me true 
thoughts. She was not of the earth. During those 
three months I testify that light seemed to me to 
beam from her while she exhaled fragrance. A 
month prior to the day fixed for my happiness she 
was stricken with scarlet fever. She had caught it 
from some poor children to whom she had been 
ministering in her unselfishness. I was her nurse. 
I count it the greatest privilege ever granted me to 
minister to that spirit as it came to the end of its 
journey. She died in my arms. God took her. She 
was of heaven and not of earth, and I was not 
worthy. How had I ever dared aspire? Since that 
time my only joy in life beyond my business has 
been the past. By day I drove my business and by 
night I left it all and lived over again my hap- 
piness.” 

There had been no sign of self-consciousness in 
Stryker's manner; he had forgotten himself and 
was telling his story as if he saw it written within. 
His voice was soft and low and well modulated. 
When he finished and looked up he was surprised 
to find his companion in tears. He had not been 
dramatic or theatrical, but his soul had been in what 
he had said, and she had been moved by the simple 
truth and by sweet sympathy. 

“Our stories are very much alike, Mr. Stryker. 
When I was quite a girl there came a new minister 
to our church. He was young and single and, oh ! 
so talented. His voice was rich and deep and full 
and there was a magnetism about him that held his 


272 


POLLY 


auditors spellbound. Then he was so deep and 
learned. But best of all he was good. You knew 
that he was good and not simply trying to be. He 
just yearned over the lost world something like 
Christ yearned over Jerusalem. And yet, with it 
all, he was so natural and graceful that even those 
who were not spiritually minded were not offended 
with him but rather attracted by his personality. 
He won men to himself till he could do anything 
with them he pleased, and then he pleased to bring 
them into the church. 

“My father was a prominent member of the 
church and the young minister was a frequent visitor 
at our house. Sometimes he came on business with 
my father, sometimes it was a pastoral call that 
brought him, sometimes it was socially that he came. 
You know how it is with a young unmarried 
preacher? All the girls, old and young, seem to 
think that he is their rightful prey. And so all the 
unmarried ladies of the congregation, or nearly all, 
‘set their cap’ for him, and many of the churches in 
the neighborhood were depleted by the constant 
visits of the young feminine portion of their con- 
gregations to our church. I fell in love with him at 
once, but I was only a child and did not count. And 
yet it was evident that he did take an interest in me ; 
but I was wise enough to believe that it was only be- 
cause I was a bright winsome child and pleased him. 
At little church and semi-formal functions, when he 
would take me out to dinner or luncheon, I felt con- 
fident that it was only because I was young and he 
could take me without creating cause for jealousy. 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


273 


or gossip. And so I was not spoiled, though I was 
always wonderfully pleased with these attentions. 
But how some of the older girls got to disliking me ! 
They said my mother ought to know better, that 
my place was at home. 

“I did not care. I was perfectly blissful. I was 
willing that this sort of thing should go on forever. 
I only feared that when a change came it would be 
when some older woman claimed him for her own 
and then I would be terribly left out. He never 
spoke to me except in the most decorous and defer- 
ential manner, often in the line of my studies, in 
which he was exceedingly interested. In fact, un- 
consciously to me at the time and to my parents as 
well, he was giving my studies a personal oversight 
and was turning them into the channels that seemed 
wise to him. He often talked of a minister’s life 
and its trials and needs. Sometimes he would speak 
to me of a minister’s wife, what she had to bear 
and how she could help and bless and comfort her 
husband. Thus two bright happy years passed in 
which I worked as hard as I could because it pleased 
him. But those two years had turned me from a 
girl into a woman and I was only half conscious of 
it, because I did not want to know the truth. I was 
happy enough in the old way. 

“About that time, though I did not know it till 
later, he asked my father if he could have me for his 
wife if he were successful in winning my love. I 
began to notice a change in his actions toward me. 
From thenceforth he treated me as a woman and 
18 


274 


POLLY 


not a child. He was so deferential and polite that 
suddenly one day I became fully conscious that I 
was a woman, and I lost all that delightful childlike 
freedom in his society that I had enjoyed so long. 
Now when I was with him I was often self-con- 
scious, and often I could feel the blood come up into 
my cheeks. Still, I was happy, though the happiness 
was different. He would take me to places as my 
sole escort. Think of it, he was actually keeping 
company with me ! Soon I began to overhear whis- 
pers, ‘There comes the minister’s sweetheart;’ and 
while I blushed, there was a throb of joy in my 
heart, for I began to believe it was true. 

“I had graduated and was now a full-fledged 
young lady, had ‘come out,’ and all that. I was not 
unattractive in appearance, and they told me that I 
had a host of admirers ; but I did not know it, for 
I never saw but one man in all that time, and that 
was the minister. When he called at our house now 
he usually called for me, and I was very proud. 
One evening I was home alone, the family had all 
gone somewhere, and I was a little troubled because 
they had not. included me. I was sitting in the 
little sitting-room up-stairs trying to read a book 
with little success. I had just about arrived at the 
conclusion that the thing for me to do was to re- 
tire, when I heard the door-bell ring, and presently 
a light foot-step on the stairs. I thought it was 
the maid and did not look around. Then I was con- 
scious that some one was in the room. There was 
a gentle pressure on my hand and I looked up into 
those deep eyes which I now saw lighted up with 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


275 


love. ‘Hester/ he said, ‘I have come to hear my 
fate. Will you make me happy for all time, or 
must I go away for a life of misery? You must 
know that I have loved you ever since I looked into 
the face of that little winsome girl. It made my 
heart throb to see you growing up so fresh and 
sweet. How I have wanted you! How I have 
needed you! How hard it has been to wait even 
this long! Can you love me, Hester? May I hope 
that one day you will be my wife?’ 

. “It is not necessary for me to go into detail as 
to what followed ; suffice it to say that we were en- 
gaged and the engagement duly announced. Un- 
fortunately, it was to be a long engagement for I 
was still considered too young to marry. But the 
love we bore each other made the two years pass 
like a happy dream. The day was fixed, but George 
had been overworking. He was too intense. The 
very day after the invitations had been mailed he 
was stricken with typhoid fever. The battle was 
against him from the start, and on the eve of the 
day that had been fixed for our wedding he was 
taken from me. I do not know how I lived through 
it. It seemed to me that I could not bear it. I must 
have received help from on high. I dreaded to look 
forward into my empty life. But one day an in- 
spiration came to me. I did not believe that hap- 
piness ever could return, but I determined to live 
to make others happy. The victory was won. 
From that moment I began to come out of the 
shadow. From that on it has been the aim of my 
life to make others happy, and while I have never 


276 


POLLY 


known the joy in life that I felt while George was 
here, still in making others happy there has been 
a reflex upon myself that often has simulated hap- 
piness; especially has this been true since I have 
had that sweet girl Marie to mother and this home 
to oversee.” 

And thus they conversed, becoming better and 
better acquainted as they thought they discovered, 
each in the other, new likenesses, in features and 
tones of voice and in character, to the loved one 
long since departed. 

Stryker became a regular visitor at the Harman 
mansion, and it was not long before he asked boldly 
for Miss Harman alone. Marie said that Aunt 
Hettie had grown ten years younger. The more 
these two met, the more they were confirmed in 
their original opinions in regard to likenesses. 
There were many old friends, both of George and 
Dora, who could not see it as plainly as these in- 
terested parties, but they confessed that in both in- 
stances there was something in the eyes that was 
wonderfully suggestive of the departed ones, and 
that the flight of time would of course have made 
changes that might have caused them to resemble 
Stryker and Miss Harman. But some said it was 
character likeness that was most striking. 

One night Stryker said soon after entering the 
Harman drawing-room, 

“Miss Harman, I am not a young man any more 
and I fear my bachelor’s life has unfitted me for 
any other kind in its best development. I have shut 
myself up from my fellows and have lived in the 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


277 


past. If you will forgive me for continuing to 
speak of myself, I will say that I have the reputa- 
tion of being a gruff, hard master. Truth to tell, 
I had nothing to live for but my paper, which I pur- 
posed to make the best in the country if I could. 
My heart was in heaven with Dora. But that day 
I met you in the street so suddenly and in such 
peculiar circumstances, my heart came back to its 
home in my breast, but only to leave it again, when 
I fully satisfied myself that you were the living 
counterpart of my Dora so long since gone. Ever 
since that time you have been Dora to me and I 
have loved her the more perfectly because you have 
been before me the living embodiment of that 
which was blessed and good in her ; but in addition, 
your own sweet personality has impressed itself 
upon me and I have grown to love you not only 
because you were like Dora, but because you were 
your own sweet natural self — Hester! will you let 
me love you, dear, and be happy? If so, I will 
endeavor to begin life over again for you.” 

“How wonderful this all is. Your experience 
coincides with mine. My heart leaped out to you 
because you were like George; but your own per- 
sonality, your manliness, your tenderness, your 
nobility have kept it clearly all your own. Eove 
me, and make my poor life happy again, when I 
thought that true happiness was dead forever! 
Indeed, it is too wonderful to be true. I almost 
expect to awaken some morning and find that it 
has all been a dream. But God is good !” 

And then they conversed as lovers only know 


278 


POLLY 


how — attention wrapt, voices modulated, words 
weighed and well chosen, love in every glance. 

At Christmastide they were married, and Polly, 
now eleven years old, was the flower-girl, and Marie 
Harman the maid of honor, while Parsons served 
as best man — after Judson had begged so piteously 
to be left off that the tender-hearted Stryker had 
not courage to persist. Never was bride more 
queenly, never was groom more happy, never did 
two love each other more truly — while at the same 
time they were loyal to the ones who had gone on 
before. 

And so there were changes in the Harman house, 
and Miss Marie became Miss Harman and 
mistress of the mansion. Aunt Hettie had been a 
part of the family for so many years that it was not 
easy to get along without her. A very important 
part of the home had been taken out. Hence it did 
not surprise the friends to learn after a short inter- 
val of time that the house was going to be boarded 
up and that the two were going to take an ocean 
trip together. Marie had not crossed the ocean 
since she was a little girl and she had long pleaded 
with her father to take her. She would not go with 
him on his hurried business trips. She wanted him 
to go with her for pleasure and recreation. Mr. 
Harman had been promising, but business had 
pressed and the promise had not been fulfilled. He 
now felt that he had reached an age when rest and 
change were imperative ; so they went off together, 
but not in the capacity of lovers on their honey- 
moon, as they had anticipated, for at the last mo- 


A TRUE LOVE STORY 


27 9 


ment there had come a change that neither of them 
had reckoned upon. There was a third party with 
them, one who was not unwelcome, indeed added to 
the pleasures of the voyage, but who prevented the 
full fruition of their cherished plans. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

judson's social PECULIARITIES 

The three years over which we have passed in 
silence have brought some changes in Judson’s life, 
important among which is a change of residence, 
though he did not desert his humble quarters on 
Blacksly street till the reasons for the removal be- 
came imperative. An influx of undesirable, noisy 
people into adjacent apartments was the final argu- 
ment in the chain that caused the move. Even the 
departure of the McLeans, in itself, was not suf- 
ficient cause for a retreat. But after the decision 
had been reached that a change of quarters was 
necessary, he could not tear himself away as long 
as Bob, the poor consumptive, lived. 

Further, judson has ceased to be a reporter on 
The Panorama , though he continued to be a special 
attraction in its columns as the author of “feature 
articles” that sparkled with wit and wisdom and 
that commanded the interested attention of a vast 
reading public. He did not leave his reportorial 
duties without a pang of regret. He loved the city, 
he was fond of the kind of people among whom 
his duties called him, he delighted in the kind of 
work that usually fell to his lot, but increased liter- 
ary demands were so heavy that something had to 
be given up, hence he said farewell to his desk with 
a sigh of regret. And now it was being whispered 


JUDSON’S SOCIAL PECULIARITIES 


281 


among literary folk that he was to assume the edi- 
torial chair of one of the great magazines the first 
of the new year, though no authoritative statement 
had been made by the publishers and Judson him- 
self remained reticent. 

Two more books built out of the material of his 
life must be added to Judson’s literary labors during 
the hiatus the minute events of which are with- 
drawn from this narrative, so that he now has 
three books to his “discredit,” as he facetiously puts 
it. The last one was a study of the slums, with 
Blacksly street as the center. This book was so full 
of his own experience, and of living, breathing 
characters, that it was recognized at once as an 
authority, and created no little stir. He had not 
been able to throw off, with his residence, his sense 
of responsibility for this section. He knew it as 
few in the city could know it, consequently, when 
the young man Scott came into the city and took up 
his residence in this street as a self-appointed mis- 
sionary, and began to win people by his manliness 
and simplicity, Judson was able to assist in many 
ways. His influence and attitude were of in- 
estimable value to the young worker. And when 
the celebrated Mr. Banks, millionaire philanthropist, 
determined to buy up the street and make it the 
scene of some experiments in model sanitary tene- 
ments, Judson’s experience again was of value. 

Meetings were held for a while down in the base- 
ment of old number seventeen, the former rendez- 
vous of a famous club or “gang.” Here Judson 
dropped in as one of the “fellows,” among whom 


282 


POLLY 


he was well known and highly respected — a kind of 
an honorary member; and his help from that side 
of the room was greater than it could have been 
had he crossed the line and taken a place of promi- 
nence in the front. These meetings were not con- 
sidered as church or missionary affairs, they were 
unique, and their leader was not thought of as a 
minister of the Gospel. 

We must not let Judson leave this section with- 
out a farewell reference to his friend Bob. A long 
time before the end came a nurse had been in at- 
tendance to do all in her power to make the patient 
comfortable, but Judson himself was as tender as a 
woman in his own way and devoted himself to the 
dying man. He would sit by him most of the day ; 
often writing, but always with an ear open to catch 
the faintest suggestion of a wish; often reading 
aloud, when it suited the whim of the patient; 
sometimes talking, when it was wise to do so. In 
those last days poor Bob Dubois went over his 
whole life with his friend; told him how wicked 
he had been, and how foolish ; pointed out the way 
in which he had begun his downward career; ex- 
plained how he had broken, first his mother’s, then 
his father’s heart; told how both had died praying 
for their wayward boy and pleading with him to 
meet them in heaven. 

The last day had come; they knew that it was 
the last — there were certain unmistakable signs. 
Bob, as usual, in his broken and halting fashion, 
had been talking about his past life and its many 


JUDSON’S SOCIAL PECULIARITIES 


283 


mistakes, when suddenly he looked up into the face 
of his friend and said, 

“Do you think there is any hope for a sinner like 
me? I mean hope after I leave you; for I know 
there is no hope for this poor old abused body.” 

“I should like to know why not! What did the 
Good One come to earth for but to seek and to save 
just such as you and me?” 

“Yes, I know; but I have been so very sinful.” 

“Very true, but sinners were the ones He came 
to seek.” 

“But how? Somehow, it all seems very intri- 
cate — I ’ve thought it over many times and I can’t 
quite grasp it. There was a time when I went to 
church and listened to sermons; in the old days, 
that was; but I usually felt more mixed up than 
ever when they were over. I do n’t believe preach- 
ers think of poor fellows like me when they preach ; 
their words are for those who have some knowledge 
and have had some sort of start; but I think they 
leave us out, and I have wondered if He leaves us 
out. Since I have been sick I have often thought 
of Jesus Christ when he was on earth, — how He 
went about doing good and all that, — and my heart 
has gone out to Him, and I have wished that He 
was here now — how I would receive Him — and ask 
Him to forgive me — how I would fall at His feet 
and worship Him — but now He seems so far off 
and I do n’t know what to do !” 

“My dear old Bob, God bless you! that very 
feeling that you have so beautifully described that 
it makes me want to cry, is all that God wants, He 


284 


POLLY 


accepts it; for Christ is nearer than He possibly 
could be in the flesh. That feeling of sorrow is the 
repentance that preachers talk about, and that feel- 
ing of longing is faith, that they say is so essential.” 
Then he read him the first chapter of the first 
Epistle of John and the first two verses of the 
second chapter. When he came to the ninth 
verse, — '“If we confess our sins He is faithful and 
just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from 
all unrighteousness,” — a smile spread itself over 
the sick man’s face that was full of hope and peace. 

After a while the sick man continued, 

“You ’ve been awfully good to me, Jud; God 
bless you for it all! I can never repay you. No 
mother could have been more tender and thought- 
ful than you have been. You took me in a broken- 
down, sinful man — a burnt-out cinder, and I was as 
hard as rock. If you had preached to me I would 
have cursed you — I was waiting for it with a bitter 
feeling in my heart — but you never did — you just 
lived and lived and kept on living a manly, open, 
unselfish life. And as I lay here and watched you 
I often imagined I could see a circle around your 
head like we see in the pictures of the saints and 
angels. And then I began to think, and little by 
little to be sorry for the past, and through it all you 
made me think of Jesus Christ. Now, please do n’t 
stop me, for I must say it! You made me think of 
Jesus Christ, not from what you said so much as 
from what you did and the way you lived. If I am 
so happy as to get to the place where He is I will 
tell Him that it was you who brought me there. 


JUDSON’S SOCIAL PECULIARITIES 


285 


Is n’t there something in the book you ’ve been 
reading to me, about a stranger and taking him in, 
and sick — and inasmuch as you did it to such a 
poor miserable fellow somehow or other He takes 
it as if you had done it to Him? O Jud, that ’s 
you, that ’s you all over !” 

This was the burden of his conversation all that 
last day, until by night he could not talk at all; 
but to every question put by Judson he would re- 
spond with a happy smile, and thus he went out 
and Judson was left alone. But there were other 
proteges in whom he was interested — the drunk- 
ard ; the gambler, another of Donald McLean’s old 
friends seeking freedom from the awful appetite 
that held him; the man whose life had been 
wrecked by impurity. With a calm steady hand he 
went on helping them all, but in such a manner that 
few knew anything about these private pleasures, 
as he called them. He was making money and in- 
vesting some in safe securities, but the investments 
that gave him the greatest joy, that made his life 
rapturous, that paid instant and usurious interest, 
were the investments in these ruined and helpless 
lives. 

But now that Polly and Mrs. McLean were gone 
from his street, and that Bob had left him, and that 
the noise from the new tenants had increased, he 
yielded to the persuasion of his friends and left 
his modest quarters on the corner of Blacksly and 
Morrow streets, that had been his happy home for 
so many months, where so much of that which ap- 
proximates bliss had come to him, and took up his 


286 


POLLY 


home with Stryker, Schnedaker and Parsons, in 
fine apartments up-town, until the marriage of the 
first-named gentleman turned the quartette into a 
trio. Plis new home was a palace as compared with 
the old one, and “Tony,” the colored man, could 
set a table for his “Massas” that was beyond the 
fondest dreams of Judson’s elevated imagination. 
Schnedaker had been admitted to this bachelor’s 
heaven upon his elevation to the position of city 
editor of the Morning Globe. 

Judson had no more use for “society” in these 
days of success than he had in the beginning. It 
is true, that in his frequent calls on the McLeans 
he sometimes ran in on other visitors, and his circle 
of speaking acquaintances was constantly enlarging. 
Once or twice he had nearly run in upon Miss Har- 
man, but he knew her times and purposely avoided 
them. 

When it is remembered that Judson was fine 
looking; that some of the best country blood was 
flowing through his veins ; that he was prosperous, 
for his books had run through many editions and 
his income had been steadily increasing; that he 
was successful in his profession of literature, and 
that any number of persons were ready and anxious 
to lionize him, if he would permit it — when all 
these things are borne in mind it must be considered 
quite remarkable that the young man did not go 
back on his first principles in regard to the things 
of the social world. He refrained from them 
simply because his inclination was not in that direc- 
tion, But this indifference only tended to make 


JUDSON’S SOCIAL PECULIARITIES 


287 


him more the man of the hour. He was shrouded 
in mystery, no one understood him, few could speak 
with any degree of confidence or authority concern- 
ing him. Hence he was the subject of innumerable 
conversations and of many debates. If there is any- 
thing in the old superstition of the burning ears he 
must have been in a constant state of discomfort 
from five o’clock in the evening, all through the 
hour for dinner, on till midnight, for familiarity 
with his presence had not been sufficient in any in- 
stance among the ladies of high society to breed 
that ennui that frequently follows a brief associa- 
tion with any “mere” man. But his books were 
read, his newspaper specials, his magazine articles, 
and from these as raw material they made him over 
and over again, and he was more attractive because 
of the mystery of his personality than if he had 
been constantly on exhibition. 

He himself was not quite certain of the reason 
for this social indifference. He had been in a splen- 
did school of training for the best society with Mrs. 
McLean, who had been a queen and had never for- 
gotten her queenliness. The rule had been estab- 
lished that all the little social formalities should be 
strictly observed when they were together, hence 
they became as second nature to Judson; not to 
mention the McLean children, the evidences of 
whose good breeding were the wonder of all who 
knew them. Nevertheless, when Parsons, semi-oc- 
casionally, offered to take him out, thereby giving 
him opportunity of shining as he surely would have 


288 


POLLY 


shone, the hardened man would reply something 
like this, 

“Well, my Reverend friend, I do not know why 
I am as I am, I just can’t help it, I fear. I am 
what I am because I am what I am. You may call 
that reasoning in a circle, but it is the best I can do 
in the circumstances. I am happy in my present 
mode of life and have no drawings toward any 
other.” 

After such a speech he often fell into a reverie 
and that look came into his eyes that Parsons 
learned was the accompaniment of the return of 
that boyhood dream that had grown up with him, 
and he knew the utter futility of further effort; 
but sometimes, before he got too far away, Judson 
would add something like this, 

“You know my dream, old fellow. That baby 
fairy of my childhood has grown up and she is a 
lady fairy now, full of sweetness and perfectly 
beautiful. No, I will not have to hunt for her. I 
settled that years ago. When the time comes 
Providence will bring us together. In the mean 
time, I will work, and I can afford to wait.” 

Then Parsons would give one final shot, 

“It would serve you right to live and die an old 
bachelor and never find that fairy at all. Your 
motto is that old one about ‘where ignorance is 
bliss’; but from my view I can plainly see its fal- 
lacy. You know the old saying, ‘God helps those 
who help themselves.’ I believe in Providence, too, 
but I believe we honor Providence by endeavoring 
to answer our own prayers. If I were Providence 


JUDSOX’S SOCIAL PECULIARITIES 


289 


I would throw you overboard now. He is all ready 
to answer your prayers but you are too lazy to go 
and take the answer. I am confident that Provi- 
dence has sent me to help you, but it ’s no use. 
You see I have the advantage, I have met this 
fairy of yours while you have not. I know that 
your dream is true, and that you were made for one 
another; but there you sit with that superior look 
on your face and say that no such woman as I 
describe exists, and you do n’t want to spoil your 
conception of this woman by seeing her, and all 
that. There you are inconsistent. You picture 
your fairy, and say you will one day meet her. I 
describe her as I see and know her, and you say it 
is impossible. It makes me angry at the time, 
though no fellow can remain angry with you. 
Whether Providence throws you over or not I am 
going to, so there you go, and good riddance to 
you! I will not have anything to do with a man 
who has no more sense than you display. You do 
not know on which side your bread is buttered! 
Bah !” 

And Judson would simply hold up his hand in 
silent invocation for peace and smile one of those 
rare sweet smiles of his, that captured by storm any 
one who was fortunate enough to be favored with 
one; and that would end the controversy for the 
time being, though something might come up in 
an hour’s time that would bring it all to the sur- 
face again and the same scene would practically be 
reenacted. 

19 


290 


POLLY 


Parsons was discouraged, and yet if he had 
known all things he would not have lost heart, for 
his words were having more influence than he 
knew, more than Judson knew. They were like 
the incessant dripping of water upon the granite 
that in ages will wear it away. Impressions were 
made in Judson’s mind which remained sub- 
conscious for the time. To use the thought of a 
modern psychologist, the suggestion was made 
upon his subjective mind and there it was for all 
time and all eternity, to be brought into the com 
sciousness of the objective mind when the moment 
of destiny came. Judson’s own dream picture and 
the pictures of Miss Harman, skilfully drawn by 
the artists Polly and Parsons, were rapidly coalesc- 
ing in his own mind and he knew it not. She was 
already a part of his life, though he had never seen 
her. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


BON VOYAGE) 

At length the day for departure arrived, and 
many friends of the Harmans gathered at the wharf 
to wish them bon voyage and anything else that 
was befitting the occasion. 

A third party was present with the sailing group, 
receiving his due share of attention. He was a tall, 
dark man, with a manly look of purpose in his eyes. 
He had arrived in the city from the West only a 
few days before — Dorothy Hamline’s brother, 
whose praises had been sung by that young lady 
herself on the memorable cruise of The Spray. 
Arthur was the only son of the western Silver 
King, but, contrary to the ordinary run of rich 
men’s sons, this one was unspoiled, for he had been 
endowed by nature with common sense and judg- 
ment. When he had come to the full consciousness 
of his father’s wealth there had accompanied it a 
sense of the tremendous obligation of riches. He 
felt that he must prepare himself for the responsibil- 
ity that in all probability awaited him. With that on 
his mind, he had studied sociology, political econ- 
omy, and kindred subjects; he had finished the 
course in one of the great Eastern universities and 
had taken graduate work in another. Since his 
school days he had made a specialty of the money 
question, of interstate commerce, of capital and 


292 


POLLY 


labor, of monopolies, and kindred themes. He had 
traveled through his own country making his own 
personal observations along these lines. When he 
came to New York, the city of his sister’s beloved 
friend, he naturally came armed with a letter of in- 
troduction. This letter was a remarkable literary 
production, and is worthy of preservation because 
of its entire lack of formality, and of the insight it 
gives to the writer’s character. 

“Dearest, Sweetest Marie: 

“This is to introduce the grandest man in the 
world to the sweetest woman who ever lived. I 
have always wanted Arthur to know you and have 
been just as anxious that you should know Arthur. 
Why should n't you know each other ? Have n't 
we known each other since our school days? Then 
he is grand ! I know that I ought not to say that 
of my own brother, but I do and that is the re- 
markable part of it: he 's grand in spite of the fact 
that he 's my brother. That sounds funny, I 
know, but it has often seemed to me that most men 
appear grand to all women except their own sisters. 
And as for you, ‘ Sweet Marie,' I lie awake nights 
loving you, and dream of you when I sleep. If I 
were a man I would never, never be happy if you 
were not my wife. But since I am a woman, I can 
love you and caress you to my hearfs content, my 
only present regret being the two thousand miles 
that separate us. You are as nearly perfect as any 
human being could be — I sometimes wonder if you 
are human. I sometimes ask myself if you are not 


BON VOYAGE 


293 


angelic, in human disguise. And yet — you are so 
truly, so blessedly, so perfectly human, that one 
does not stand in awe of you as one would in the 
presence of a being from another world. If you 
are an angel you never stand on your angelic dig- 
nity. 

“ But I have lost my thread — one of my many 
faults. This is to present my brother. Be good to 
him while he is in your city — for my sake. Make 
him shake oil, for a little while at least, some of his 
solemnity. He ' s all right, but there 's no use nor 
reason , as far as I can understand, in any one being 
as solemn as he is. If any one can do this, you can. 

(f But do n't! do n't// DO N'T!!! go falling 
in love with each other — at least not right away. 
I zvould n't object at some time in the future hav- 
ing you for a sister, you dear, sweet thing! But 
do n't fall in love now! Now please do n't! I have 
warned and threatened Arthur till he is duly fright- 
ened into submission. 

(( But I must bring this formal (?) letter of intro- 
duction to a close. 

“ Yours everlastingly, 

“Dorothy Hamdine). 
“Presenting Mr. Arthur Hamline." 

Dorothy probably had her own reasons for 
writing this kind of a letter and for insisting on a 
repetition of her whim at the close. Whatever 
those reasons may have been, it is certain that if 
she had been a professional match-maker and had 
desired that consummation most devoutly, she 


294 


POLLY 


could not have wrought more wisely than she did. 
If she had said to her brother, “Now, Arthur, 
Marie Harman is just the girl I should like you to 
marry; fall in love with her, woo her, win her!” — 
being human, more than likely he would have 
steeled himself against her charms and, in all 
probability, would have been able to resist. And if 
she had written to Marie, “We have been such good 
friends, would it not be perfectly lovely if we could 
be ‘truly’ sisters for good and all? I do not want 
to make myself obnoxious, but I have this favor to 
ask: Try to love Arthur, won’t you, for my 
sake? He is so nice and good and true, he will 
make you such a good husband,” — the young lady 
would have been righteously indignant and fully 
prepared not to like the man. Could it have been 
that Dorothy was unconsciously moved by this great 
principle and that she was endeavoring to bring the 
two together? 

As it was, Arthur Hamline was virtually in love 
with the girl before he saw her, a thing that fre- 
quently happens, for men love their own ideals 
anyway, and it is as easy to form them before as 
after meeting, especially if the imagination has been 
quickened by a deft and tactful artist. But upon 
the first meeting he instantly discovered that “the 
half had not been,” could not be, “told,” and as he 
put it, he fell desperately in love with her at first 
sight. 

And Marie was wonderfully prepossessed in his 
favor, and she was, at first sight, more interested, 


BON VOYAGE 


295 


more nearly in love with him than with any other 
man she had ever seen. 

The meeting took place only a few days before 
the departure of the Harmans. The next morning 
after the first meeting young Hamline quietly 
slipped around and took passage on the same ship, 
and then telegraphed his father that he had suddenly 
decided to sail for England, thence to Germany, 
with a view to taking a special course either at Ox- 
ford or one of the German universities, or both, if 
things suited him. He then had the temerity to 
pretend to the Harmans that the whole thing was a 
coincidence and that his original purpose was being 
carried out. It is true that a course in a foreign 
university had been among the projects that were 
taking shape in his mind, but it had come into the 
focus of action suddenly. He quite chivalrously 
offered to book himself on another line if his pres- 
ence was in any way distasteful to them. The 
Harmans expressed the joy they felt at the pros- 
pect of such pleasant companionship during the 
ocean voyage. 

Among the many friends on deck the day of sail- 
ing were Parsons, Van Dyke, most of the others of 
the old cruising party, though several of them were 
no longer single, Mr. and Mrs. William P. Stryker, 
of course, several other young people of Miss Har- 
man’s set, and last but by no means least, in the eyes 
of the departing friends, Mrs. McLean and Polly. 

Young Hamline was a mystery to most of the 
friends gathered here. They could not understand 
his presence and no one took the trouble to explain. 


296 


POLLY 


He was the subject of many asides among the fair 
sex. His demeanor, his gravity, his general bear- 
ing commanded instant respect. Perhaps Maizie 
Emerson expressed the feelings of most of the com- 
pany when she said in an aside that little Polly 
McLean overheard, 

“If Marie Harman has not met her Waterloo, 
then hers is a hopeless case!” 

“ ‘So say we all of us,’ ” responded Horace Wat- 
kins, whose engagement to Miss Emerson had re- 
cently been announced — making the fourth and 
most stubborn fatal case resulting from the cruise 
of The Spray. 

But before the visitors were invited ashore by the 
officers of the ship, Miss Marie and Polly had a chat 
together away from all the rest of the company. 

“I ’m truly awfully sorry you ’re going to leave 
us all for so long, Miss Marie.” 

“I wish your mother had been willing to let you 
go with us, you dear. If she will say the word, I 
will take you just as you are. We can manage 
your wardrobe, I guess, while you are on ship, and 
it will be such fun to look after it when we get 
ashore.” 

“I wish I could. Not this time. Some time I 
hope. It is one of the dear desires of my heart. 
I feel a great big wish all the time to cross the 
ocean, and it grows bigger every day. But not 
this time. Muzzer needs me yet. I sometimes 
think she always will want me as long as she lives. 
And that ’s awfully sweet, is n’t it, to be wanted 
very much by somebody in particular? I mean, to 


BON VOYAGE 


297 


feel that you are of real importance to some one, 
especially when that one is one whom you love ten- 
derly. I should think that would be one of the 
things that would make a lady happy when she was 
going to be married — to know that somebody in 
particular wanted her so much that he was not 
willing to live without her. I thought of that when 
your Aunt Hettie got married. How sweet it must 
have been to feel that a nice man like Mr. Stryker 
wanted her so badly that he could n’t get along 
without her !” 

“All that is very true, Polly.” 

“By the way, Miss Marie ,” — apropos to some- 
thing in her own heart and not to anything that had 
been said, — “Mr. Judson was at our house when we 
started for the ship and I asked him to come with 
us.” 

“And what did Mr. Judson say ?” 

“He said he was very busy and only dropped in 
for a few minutes on his way past our street; and 
besides, he said, it would not be proper since he was 
not acquainted with Miss Harman. I said that it 
would be proper for him to come with us, to be our 
escort, and besides he knew your papa.” 

“Of course it would have been proper for him to 
come, if he had wished!” 

“Do you know, Miss Marie, I have been think- 
ing how strange it is that you two have never yet 
met each other. All the rest of us know each other 
so intimately and love each other so dearly and you 
are still strangers. I do n’t like it. He truly is the 
nicest and best man I have ever seen, Miss Marie, 


298 


POLLY 


and he always makes me think of Jesus — I mean 
when I think of him alone in my heart when I am 
not near him. Not that he ever talks ‘good’ or ‘puts 
on’ anything, but he is so noble and good and true 
that he leaves that kind of a — of a — of a aroma 
in your heart, so that when he goes and you are 
all alone, you compare him with the best that ever 
lived. And you, well you know what I think of 
you, and I have never had reason to change my 
mind — -you are a sweet angel and do n’t know it, 
though you ought to by this time, for I have told 
you often enough!” 

“You darling! You are a sweet, loving, partial 
judge,” and Miss Harman drew the little girl to 
herself and threw her arms around her and kissed 
her many times. 

“I ’ve got a favor to ask, Miss Marie, while you 
are away.” 

“What is it, dear ?” 

“I do n’t like to ask.” 

“Do n’t be afraid, sweetheart; anything I can 
do will be a pleasure, and if it ’s anything I can 
bring you do not hesitate to ask it from me.” 

“It is n’t anything like that. I want you to think 
of me often while you are gone.” 

“Why, of course, you old lover, I will think of 
my Polly many, many times a day, and will be 
saying, ‘I wonder what Polly is doing now!’ or ‘I 
wonder where she is !’ or ‘I wonder if she is think- 
ing of me!’ ” 

“Yes, but that is n’t all of the favor, and I am 
rather ashamed to ask the rest.” 


BON VOYAGE 


299 


“Why should you be, sweetheart?” 

“Because I do not know why I ask it, and you 
will think it silly, but it just seems as if I must.” 

“Then go ahead. I promise I won’t eat you up. 
Angels are not cannibals, you know.” 

“Well, I want you to think of me, and I want you 
to think of somebody else every time you think of 
me.” 

“And who is that somebody, pray ?” 

“I want — I want you to think — I want you to 
think of Mr. Judson every time you think of me. I 
do n’t know why I ask it, but something made me 
feel that I must all the time I ’ve been here, and I 
know I would n’t have been happy if I had n’t, but 
now a load is off of my heart. Will you do it? 
Say ‘yes,’ please!” 

A moment’s silence and then the reply, with a 
sweet, wistful look on her face, 

“I often do think of him, dear, as the dear friend 
of several of my dearest friends, who all love him 
and paint such wonderful pictures of him that I 
have made a picture of him of my own which I often 
look at and ponder. And that is one reason I have 
never met him — I have been afraid that he would 
not approach the picture that you partial friends 
have caused me to paint in my heart. Yes, I prom- 
ise willingly to think of him when I think of you. 
That will not be so difficult as you may suppose, for 
I often think of you together. It seems most nat- 
ural to do so.” 

At that moment Miss Harman was captured by 
the rest of her friends, and was literally dragged 


300 


POLLY 


away from the cozy chat with her little friend be- 
hind the funnel where they had betaken themselves 
for privacy. Presently a voice was heard crying 
out, 

“All visitors must go ashore !” 

Polly endeavored to fathom her own motives as 
they were journeying homeward on the elevated 
train, but was compelled to shake her head and give 
it up. She was glad she did it, however, for a load 
had indeed fallen from her heart. And she was 
more glad than ever that she did it after months 
had passed away. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


ARTHUR HAMUIN3 

Mr. Hamline carried about with him some old- 
fashioned notions concerning honor and especially 
in matters pertaining to courtship and marriage, 
hence he made an appointment with Mr. Harman 
for a late interview their first night on shipboard, 
after the young lady had sought her stateroom. 
The two men were pacing the deck arm-in-arm. 

“Mr. Harman, I have a very serious and impor- 
tant question to ask you. I have fallen in love with 
your daughter and desire your permission to seek to 
win her hand. I deemed it my duty first to gain 
your consent to my suit before I revealed to her any 
sign of my intentions.” 

“I suppose it will have to come to that some time 
by some one,” musingly. “But, Mr. Hamline, I 
have unconsciously been putting off the day far in 
the distance; for she is my youngest, my baby, if 
you please, and I can scarcely realize that sufficient 
years have passed over her head to make such a 
question proper. I must say, however, that in these 
days of self-will on the part of young people, it is 
quite refreshing to come in contact with a man of 
this generation who entertains the old ideas concern- 
ing honor in these important matters. I have known 
you but a few days, Mr. Hamline, and you have 
known my daughter but the same length of time. 


302 


POLLY 


Is not this rather sudden ? How do you know that 
she is the woman for your wife? Then you must 
realize, sir, that I am growing old and that Marie 
is all there is left to me ! What right have you — ? 
But it is the way of the world, the way of the world ! 
A man devotes his life and untold expense upon his 
daughter, and a young man of an hour’s acquain- 
tance thinks he can step in and snatch it all. But if 
it is my daughter’s happiness I must learn to count 
myself out. I will leave it all with her, sir, if it 
breaks my heart. I am not so ignorant of you as 
I at first pretended. I have received a letter from 
your father concerning you, the like of which any 
young man ought to feel proud to have his father 
write; and I have read the very remarkable letter 
of introduction written by yOur most charming 
sister, of whom, as regards the affections, I think 
as a father thinks of his own daughter. That letter, 
I am sure, would pass you anywhere.” 

“Sister is not a good judge. She only sees one 
side of me and is frightfully prejudiced.” 

“On the contrary, I think her a very excellent 
judge, for several reasons, and I know her to be 
truthful to a remarkable degree, for this dissem- 
bling day and generation.” 

“You are right concerning Dorothy’s truthful- 
ness. But let me thank you for your generous 
treatment of a stranger who seeks to rob you of 
your richest treasure.” 

“ ’T is not from choice, I assure you, Mr. Ham- 
line; it is a case of necessity. I only thank Heaven 
that she has willingly been my sweetheart all these 


ARTHUR HAMLINE 


303 


years. You make no mistake in your choice, Mr. 
Hamline — she is a girl in ten thousand, and no one 
knows that better than I do.” 

The sea became rough during the night, and Mr. 
Harman was compelled to seek his berth the next 
morning soon after coming on deck, and there he 
was compelled to remain during the greater part of 
the voyage. Mr. Hamline and Miss Harman were 
both first-rate sailors and were not troubled by le 
mal de mer at all; hence they were thrown upon 
each other for recreation. Mr. Harman was not 
seriously ill but just sufficiently so to make it im- 
perative that he remain most of the time upon his 
back. His daughter ministered to him solicitously, 
yet it was necessary for her to remain many hours 
upon deck — her father insisted upon it and her 
health demanded it ; and then it was a delight to be 
joined in her walks by Dorothy Hamline’s hand- 
some, manly brother. 

Often they would sit on the sunny side of the 
deck and talk; sometimes of Dorothy, a never-fail- 
ing source of conversation ; sometimes of literature, 
of which both were ardent lovers; sometimes of 
social work in the cities, in which both of them had 
had some experiences of their own which were 
pleasant to relate and to hear. 

Toward the end of the week they were thor- 
oughly well acquainted. There is no place in the 
world equal to a steamer’s deck to draw young 
people together. Often a single week’s acquain- 
tance ends in an engagement. A few years ago 
strangers met on the deck of an Atlantic liner, 


304 


POLLY 


courted, became engaged, and were married in 
Liverpool. There are many match-makers in the 
world, conscious or otherwise, but the steamer’s 
deck can hold its own with any of them. Several 
times Marie knew — by instinct, not by word or 
sign — -that the handsome man by her side was a 
lover. Not by conscious sign, though the tones and 
cadences of his voice, the glance of his eye, his 
superb thoughtfulness for her comfort and that of 
her father’s, his every gesture and general bearing 
spoke volumes. On the other hand, there had come 
up within her that warm glow around the heart that 
is often the harbinger of love. She was indeed 
nearer her Waterloo than ever she had been before. 
Hamline was in the position that Van Dyke had 
coveted by intuition and had vainly endeavored to 
attain, viz: a place by the side of the girl of his 
choice on the deck of a majestic steamer on the 
broad Atlantic, far out of sight of land. But once 
in a while Marie Harman thought of little Polly, 
according to promise! 

Just about the time these feelings were finding 
lodgment in Marie’s heart, Hamline began to real- 
ize that this wonderful girl was floating toward 
him. She had seemed so distant, so impossible, at 
first, but now all her unconscious reserve was gone, 
and, by her manner, by her smile, by her dignified 
womanly lack of restraint, he felt that she was com- 
ing to him. In his heart there was going up a 
hallelujah chorus of his own, heaven seemed to be 
all around him, and even the meanest things seemed 
tinged with its blessed glow. He walked up to the; 


ARTHUR HAMLIXE 


305 


steerage as he had often done before, and looked 
down into its horrid depths, but it seemed brighter 
now, and the dirty little children that were running 
about had for him suggestions of cherubic possibili- 
ties that had never presented themselves to him on 
previous visits. The kingdom of heaven is within 
us, and when it is within it casts its blessed glow 
upon everything with which we come in contact. 
Because Hamline was in heaven himself he thought 
that everything about him was necessarily heavenly. 

It was the day before they sighted land. Ham- 
line had determined to make a test that day, a test 
of what he had begun to feel was a foregone con- 
clusion. Mr. Harman had been on deck awhile but 
had been driven below by the long swell off the Irish 
coast. Their chairs were placed in the nook formed 
by the coming together of two life-boats on the 
hurricane deck, which effectually sheltered them 
from the cold winds that had persisted in blowing 
all the way across, but did not prevent the warm 
rays of the sun from reaching them from the oppo- 
site quarter. 

They had been reading Tennyson, and both of 
them were a little nervous. He had just read in 
his deep sonorous voice : 

“ ‘Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, O sea! 

And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me !’ ” 

His voice trembled, his hand shook, he came to 
a halt and laid the book down, open at the place 


20 


306 


POLLY 


where he had been reading, and looking full into the 
face of his fair companion, he said, 

“I am feeling those words tremendously — ‘I 
would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that 
arise in me!’ I wish my tongue could utter the 
thoughts that arise in me at this moment. Miss 
Harman, the only thought in my heart at this mo- 
ment is my love for you and that is the only way 
my prosaic lips can frame it — I love you — I love 
you with all the powers of my manhood ! I loved 
you before ever I saw you ; I loved the idea of you 
that had grown up in my heart from thoughts and 
suggestions made by my sister. Her admonitions 
to me before leaving home not to fall in love with 
you but added fuel to the flames already there ; but 
when I saw you, heard your voice, felt the spell of 
your smile, I was dazzled, bewildered for a while, 
but I have come forth from it with but one idea in 
my whole life and that is that I love you with all 
that I am or ever hope to be. I overheard that 
sweet little girl Polly, the day we sailed, call you 
an angel. You seemed like an angel to me, too 
holy and lofty for human being to dare to desire; 
but as these beautiful days have sped, I have 
breathed your pure human atmosphere as well, 
and — and — and I have dared !” 

Miss Harman had known what was coming. 
Women have an instinct that whispers to them 
when the supreme moment is at hand. She had 
felt it all the previous day. The night before she 
had lain awake endeavoring to decide what she 
would say in the event such an exigency should 


ARTHUR HAMLINE 


307 


arise, and though she was unable to make up her 
mind, there was that warm glow about the heart 
which she knew could be fanned into a flame. And 
there was that noble man, whom any woman could 
love — so manly, so noble, so different from the 
ordinary men of her acquaintance. She was not 
able to answer the question the night before as she 
anticipated it, but she seemed to feel intuitively what 
it must eventually be. She almost acknowledged 
to herself that her Waterloo was near. 

That afternoon as her father left her and as 
Hamline drew their chairs into the little sheltered 
nook while he opened the book to read, she knew 
that the climax had come, and while her heart was 
in a flutter she never appeared more calm and self- 
possessed. As she sat in her steamer chair, warmly 
wrapped in her costly rugs, with her eyes cast down, 
with the glow of the cold — and of something else — 
in her cheeks, with that matchless man before her 
telling his love so simply, and yet so eloquently, she 
trembled, she thought she felt that other glow 
around the heart growing warmer — surely her 
Waterloo was near, very near! 

But what sprite of the air, what unseen enemy 
put the name “Polly” on his lips? With the word 
came the vision of the last farewell and the memory 
of the peculiar promise, and then, rising before her, 
as if from the ocean, the image of a man transcend- 
ing any human being she had ever known; there 
seemed to be a halo of light about his head and a 
solemn though beautiful smile upon his face — it was 


308 


POLLY 


the image of a man she had never seen, but she 
knew that it was Judson. 

With a deep full breath she replied, 

“Mr. Hamline, you are the brother of my dearest 
friend. Circumstances have thrown us together in 
an unusual degree the first two weeks of our ac- 
quaintance. These facts have undoubtedly weighed 
upon us both very heavily. It was Dorothy’s wish, 
expressed in no uncertain way, that this should not 
happen. To say that I am indifferent to your 
words would be neither truthful nor kind, but to say 
that I reciprocate your feelings would be to say that 
of which I am not yet certain. It would be easy for 
me to misunderstand and misjudge my own feelings 
in the present circumstances. I think it only fair 
to both of us that we separate, say for three months, 
and let that be the test. Let me see — suppose you 
meet me three months from to-day on the summit 
of the Rigi at three o’clock in the afternoon. And 
pray do not think that I am unconscious of the high 
honor you have conferred upon me in your love — 
the very thought of it makes me tremble.” She 
took from her waist while she was speaking a tiny 
book marked off with the days of the year, and 
turned to the exact date mentioned and placed her 
pencil upon it. 

“I suppose I had no right to hope for or expect 
anything better, Miss Harman, but I had been en- 
tertaining hope these last days that perhaps this 
voyage would give me certain knowledge of the frui- 
tion of the greatest joy I can ever hope to win. 
But you are very good ; it is only fair. I will sub- 


Arthur hamline 


309 


mit as gracefully as possible to your decree.” And 
he took from his pocket his engagement-book and 
wrote very carefully under the appointed date, 
“Rigi Culm, Switzerland, 3 p. m., Miss Harman.” 

He could not help feeling encouragement; he 
hoped, he believed that all would be well. The voy- 
age was ended; the two went forth — the one with 
mixed feelings and growing doubts in her heart, the 
other sad but full of hope. 


CHAPTER XXX 


JUDSON NEEDS A VACATION 

The evening- of the day the Harmans departed 
for Europe, Judson dropped in on the McEeans 
again. Polly was full of Miss Marie and could 
talk of nothing else — how beautiful she was, how 
good, how full of life and energy, how superior to 
all other young ladies, and so on till Judson could 
not restrain a smile, which the intent little Polly did 
not see. It was the way she frequently entertained 
him and she knew he liked it. 

“And there was a young man with them, Mr. 
Judson, a perfectly elegant young man. He was 
dark and sober and handsome. Yes, he was good 
too, you could see that, but it was the kind of ‘good’ 
that you would almost be afraid of. His name is 
Mr. Hamline and he is a brother to Miss Marie’s 
dearest friend, Dorothy Hamline, and he’s so rich 
and fine, and elegant, and one of the ladies said to 
a gentleman that Miss Harman would meet her 
Waterloo on this trip. Oh, Mr. Judson, what did 
she mean? I know it is something dreadful by the 
way they all looked who heard her say it; what — ” 
But the dear girl could contain herself no longer, 
but burst out into an almost uncontrollable fit of 
sobbing, something so unusual for the sunshiny 
Polly that even Mrs. McLean could not remember 
when there had been a similar outburst. 


JUDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


311 


After the child had been somewhat comforted, 
while the sobs were still choking her speech, she 
asked again, 

“What did they mean — by — her — Wa — ter — 
loo?” 

“Why, my dear child, there was no cause for 
grief in that. It was simply a figure of speech that 
you will perfectly understand when you get deeper 
into the study of history. In this case, they only 
meant that they feared, or rather believed, that Miss 
Marie, who heretofore has never fallen in love with 
any young man, in spite of the efforts of many to 
make her do so, can scarcely help falling in love 
with that refined and noble man who is to be her 
companion every day on the long voyage.” 

Instead of being comforted, the sensitive little 
girl broke into another spell of weeping, which was 
as severe as the first though not of such great dura- 
tion. When she could make herself understood, 
she sobbed out as she seized Mr. Judson by the 
hand, 

“That ’s — just — what — I — thought — they — 
meant!” (Sobbing violently between words.) 
“Never mind, Mr. Judson — I did — I did — the best 
I knew how — it was n’t — very much — it was all — 
I could do — and I just had to. I made Miss 
Marie — p-pr-promise — to think of me often — and 
— every time she thought of me — to think of you — 
Mr. Judson! I — I — I — c-c-c-could n’t help it! I 
had to — do something. And she — p-pr -prom- 
ised — /” (Renewed sobbing and tears). 

“Bless her dear heart, Mr. Judson. Do n’t you 


312 


POLLY 


see what she has been trying to do? She has 
always planned that you should marry Miss Marie, 
and now she fears that Mr. Hamline will win her. 
She has been a regular general in strategy and tact, 
and if you had only known Miss Harman, and had 
had sense enough (pardon me!) to fall in love with 
her, you could not have had a better, nor truer, nor 
more skilful friend at court nor ally in the field than 
this little miss. I was sometimes afraid that by her 
skill she would make Miss Marie love you before she 
ever saw you. But you were so hard-hearted that 
I had no fear of you. If you had been like other 
men you would have fallen in love with her long 
ago. But I fear you have sinned away your day of 
grace, now, young man!” 

Judson simply took the little girl in his lap and 
placed her head upon his shoulder, while he kissed 
the sweet face again and again. 

As Judson retired that night he saw his old 
dream-ideal so plainly that he dreamed all night of 
the little fairy of his boyhood’s fancy, and awoke 
in the morning with the peculiar sensation of being 
in love with a phantom, or an ideal, or a word- 
picture. Whatever it was, he had all the symp- 
toms of being in love. And, worse than that, as the 
days passed, he discovered that he was jealous, 
almost insanely jealous. As he sat in his room one 
day, unable to work, he leaned back in his chair 
and closed his eyes, and there before him his imagi- 
nation conjured up the image of his ideal — sweet, 
winsome, strong, beautiful, but troubled. Yes, 
there was in front of her another image, that of a 


JTJDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


313 


dark, handsome man. Who was it? It was the 
image of the man he had seen on the street with 
Mr. Harman the week before — it must have been 
the man Hamline! 

Judson was a cool, well-poised man, but he was 
nearer insanity that day than ever he had been 
before. He jumped from his chair, seized his hat, 
and rushed down town. Breaking into Stryker’s 
office, he said, 

“Stryker, I do not know what is the matter with 
me; I think I must be crazy.” 

“You need a wife.” 

“Shut up! You are as crazy as I am, in another 
direction. Now do n’t say a word. I believe I 
need a rest and I have just determined to take my 
first vacation. I am going to get as far away from 
civilization as I can get.” 

“Exactly what I should have advised if you 
would have permitted it. Where do you think of 
going?” 

“I have an old college chum who has moved to 
Kentucky, to what he calls the center of the Blue- 
Grass region. He says it ’s paradise on earth. He 
is constantly urging me to come to see him and I 
think I shall wire him that I am coming and then 
take the next train.” 

“I' do not see your object in doing that. There 
is no place more civilized in the country than the 
Blue-Grass region of Kentucky. Why do you not 
go bear-hunting out West along with our great 
President ?” 

“Well, in the first place I am not a hunter, and in 


314 


POLLY 


the second I have not been invited. But my friend 
invites me to see some of the wildest regions in the 
country — the mountains of Kentucky, and I am 
going.” 

“Have you got your gun ?” 

“No, I never owned one and I am not going to 
begin now.” 

The two friends looked at each other a moment, 
full in the face, then Judson seized the hand of the 
other man and gave it a tremendous grip, saying as 
he hurried out, 

“It is good to have a friend like you.” 

Inside of an hour a message was started for Ken- 
tucky and that same evening Judson was in a sleep- 
ing-car speeding away westward toward the State 
of which he had read so much and about which he 
knew so little. His train arrived the next evening 
at the Chesapeake and Ohio station, Lexington, at 
five-twenty, and his friend was at the station with 
a hearty welcome for him. Tom had married since 
Judson had seen him, and the first thing was an 
introduction to Mrs. Tom, then a splendid supper 
and a delightful evening in armchairs living over 
again the days that had almost been forgotten in the 
busy life in the city. Judson warmed up to the 
occasion and became himself once more. But when 
he was left alone that night the old restless feeling 
came back to him. 

Several days were spent in seeing the sights of 
the city and vicinity. There were the college and 
university to visit, there was Henry Clay’s headless 
monument in the cemetery which a short-sighted 


JTJDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


315 


legislature had neglected to its shame; the water 
works, the old colonial mansions, the wonderful 
oiled and dustless pikes going out in every direction 
like the spokes from the hub, the marvelous stock- 
farms with their beautiful thoroughbreds ; then 
there was the social side of it night after night. On 
the morning of the fourth day the weary man re- 
belled. 

“See here, Tom, I came out here on your invita- 
tion to get away from civilization, and I have seen 
more of it here to the square inch than I have been 
accustomed to in a yard where I came from. My 
mind is getting worse and worse since I have been 
here.” 

“I was just waiting for you to say the word. 
Until you wired that you were coming I had planned 
to spend two weeks in the mountains of my own 
State. If you are ready we will cut everything 
else out and take the two twenty-five train for Jack- 
son this afternoon.” 

“L am with you.” 

So it was that the afternoon train on the Lexing- 
ton and Eastern took them on their way to the 
mountains. Tom took occasion while on the train 
to tell his friend of the feuds that had made 
Breathitt County a name to be spoken in whispers 
the whole country over, where murder had been 
so common at times that it outranked theft, and 
where juries had become so servile that conviction 
for murder was almost impossible. At a little after 
six o’clock in the evening the train pulled into the 
terminal station at Jackson, the county-seat. 


316 


POLLY 


One night in a hotel that offered a comfortable 
bed and mountain fare and an early start on the 
morrow on horseback with old Uncle Noah for a 
guide, and their mountain trip was on in earnest. 
It was just what the tired man needed, this jaunt 
away from the haunts of men. If it had not been 
for something that was on his mind and that fol- 
lowed him wherever he went he might have returned 
at the end of the two weeks in a perfectly normal 
condition, but his mind was worrying him in spite 
of the beauties of nature and the sweetness of the 
mountain atmosphere. 

He could not fail to be interested, however, in 
the conditions that surrounded him, and his note- 
book received many additions. In the first place, 
the mountains were not high as he had anticipated, 
but rough and wild and covered with the most beau- 
tiful timber. In the second place, he had never sus- 
pected that in all the country anything so rough and 
almost impassable could bear the name of “roads.” 
They were rough and rutty and steep, with sink- 
holes that would literally drop a wagon to the hubs. 
Many of these roads followed the windings of the 
mountain streams and much of the way they were 
down in their beds, which made the cheapest roads 
imaginable, for nature did all the work on them that 
could be done, and gratis too, though it was a trifle 
inconvenient, to be sure, in time of freshet to be 
compelled to wait days or even weeks before you 
could reach your destination. In the next place, the 
people themselves were interesting beyond measure. 
The purest blood circulated in their veins, for they 


JUDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


317 


had been as certainly isolated here, from the begin- 
ning, as if they had been on an island of the Pacific. 
They were ignorant of many of the things found in 
books, but wise in others that come only from a 
deep and constant study of the book of nature. 
These people were the soul of hospitality in the good 
old-fashioned sense. They would leave their beds 
at midnight to admit a stranger, and then sleep on 
the floor that the newcomer might take their places. 
The suggestion of pay for board or bed was taken 
as an insult. Even at the road-houses where trav- 
elers regularly spent the night, the charge was 
merely nominal — ten cents for lodging and ten 
cents apiece for meals. These people were honest 
in the highest degree. No one ever thought of put- 
ting anything under lock and key. If a man gave 
a good account of himself, behaved decently, and 
was not a revenue agent, he was perfectly safe, for 
there was no reason to harm him. Judson discov- 
ered that the curse of the country is the “mountain 
dew,” as the illicit “moonshine” whiskey is called. 
The boys learn to drink early and few live to be old. 
This mountain product is often doctored in such a 
manner that the modern “rectifier” of our cities 
would hold his breath if he knew the drugs that 
were added to it. 

The mountain streams attracted Judson’s atten- 
tion. First, their names. There were Quicksand, 
Ball, Auglin (a contraction for Audubon), Lone- 
some, Troublesome, Betty’s Troublesome (a 
branch), Kingdom Come, and other names even 
more suggestive that would not look so well in print. 


318 


POLLY 


He discovered that the streams were the streets of 
the region. Since the streams were the roads it was 
natural for the settlers to build their cabins on the 
banks, and you were directed to their homes by the 
number of miles they lived up their respective 
streams. 

The life in the mountain air was undoubtedly 
good for Judson’s body, but the seat of his trouble 
was the heart. He was glad when Tom said his 
business compelled him to return to the blessed 
Blue-Grass country. It had been difficult for Jud- 
son to enter into the pleasures of the trip without 
discovering to his friend the cloud that overshad- 
owed him. Lexington was reached at noon. He 
hoped for a quiet evening with his friends and an 
early start home next day. But Mrs. Tom had not 
been satisfied with her share of Judson, hence she 
had planned to give a public exhibition of her 
“lion” that night. It was to be informal, but the 
simple thought made Judson grind his teeth. 

The evening was passing away smoothly enough 
with music and conversation, and Mrs. Tom was 
just beginning to serve the delightful refreshments, 
a part of the program in which she especially 
gloried, when some late comers were announced, 
the Murrays and their guest. Judson was duly pre- 
sented and was searching his mind for some topic 
upon which to talk when he caught the name of the 
young lady guest — Miss Hamline of Denver. He 
could not place the name at first, but she instantly 
knew him as the author of several books and as the 
man of whom Marie Harman had written more 


JTJDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


319 


than once. Hence the most natural question for 
her to ask was the one that came to her lips in- 
stantly, 

“Do you know my dear friend Miss Harman ?” 

“Not exactly. But we have so many friends in 
common that I often feel as if I know her as well. 
She is abroad now, went with her father before I 
left New York.” 

“Yes, I know she has gone, and that is not all. I 
got a hurried note from my brother Arthur saying 
that he had sailed with them. You know what that 
means to me? It means that on shipboard 
together, with the father seasick in all probability, 
that they will fall in love with each other and I shall 
have the dearest girl in the world for a sister. 
Things could not have worked out better if I had 
been able to plan them all. I do not want to be a 
match-maker, but I do want Arthur and Marie to 
marry each other so that I can own them both. 
When Arthur went East I did not know that Marie 
was going to sail so soon. I warned Arthur that 
he must not fall in love with Marie. I commanded 
him not to. Then I wrote a note to Marie and 
pleaded with her not to fall in love with my brother. 
You see my knowledge of human nature told me 
that such injunctions would move them, uncon- 
sciously to themselves, to do the opposite, and I feel 
well satisfied with what I have done. For as soon 
as Arthur finds that these friends are going abroad, 
he throws aside his own plans and books himself 
for the same ship. What does that mean? It 


320 


POLLY 


means that he has already lost himself and the battle 
is half won.” 

“So that is the Hamline, is it?” muses Judson. 
“I knew that the name was familiar enough.” And 
he went on musing as if he were not supposed to be 
in conversation with one of the greatest “catches” 
in the country. Miss Hamline’s opinion of the 
great author was somewhat modified, and no one 
knows what would have happened or how it would 
have terminated if Mrs. Tom had not guessed the 
situation and come to her guest’s rescue. 

Judson shook the dust of Kentucky from his feet 
the next morning, without regret. He now plainly 
saw that it had been a mistake to be a guest at all, 
in his state of mind, or to think of thrusting himself 
upon any one as a companion. A purpose had been 
forming itself in his mind for several hours which 
grew and strengthened as the train hurried him on 
his way to New York. When he stepped off the 
ferry his mind was made up and his first stopping- 
place was the booking-office of one of the great 
transatlantic companies. He was fortunate enough 
to find a berth on the steamer leaving the next after- 
noon. By the same hour the next day he was far 
out on the Atlantic. It had required some rapid 
work in several directions to get ready so quickly, 
but there he was. This action was sudden and 
almost without reason, but the man was far from 
being at his best — he was weary and over-wrought; 
he was jealous and fearful, and did not know it. 
Two things had been the immediate cause of this 
sudden move : the memory of the vision of the dark 
handsome man that had come to him on the eve of 


JUDSON NEEDS A VACATION 


321 


his departure for Kentucky, and the conversation 
he had recently held with Miss Dorothy Hamline 
in Lexington, Ky.,when that young lady had opened 
her heart to him in regard to her beloved brother 
and Marie Harman and had given him to feel that 
victory was about to crown the efforts of her gener- 
alship in her new field of match-making. But now 
he was out on the ocean where the breezes were 
blowing fresh and free, and with the breezes came 
calmness, and in the calm he looked himself straight 
in the face and called himself a fool — crossing the 
ocean, without reason; in pursuit of a person, out- 
side his circle of friends, whom he did not know, 
had never seen, did not know that he wanted to see, 
nor, where to find her if he had wished it never so 
anxiously. 

After days of this continued calm he reached a 
conclusion : he would dismiss the thought that had 
brought him madly from home, and now that his 
face was toward the East, he would travel, for he 
was convinced that he needed rest and change — his 
life had been too intense since the day he left the 
country. Fortunately he had seen his lawyer and 
had arranged his business affairs, especially as they 
were related to his several proteges. He was not 
willing that they Should suffer, though they must 
miss his sympathy and the magnetic helpfulness of 
his personality. 

By the time he left the ship he had conquered 
himself so that he went forth with that eagerness 
that accompanies the tourist on his first trip of 
sight-seeing and inspiration in lands beyond the sea. 

21 


CHAPTER XXXI 


RIGI CUIyM 

It is two-thirty of the clock, in the afternoon. 
Marie Harman is standing alone on the brow of the 
Rigi, her father having just returned to the hotel a 
short distance away. She is straining her eyes, 
looking out into a blank, milky whiteness ; a gleam- 
ing whiteness; a whiteness like that of a shroud 
which seems to be enfolding itself about her, stifling 
her. But suddenly there comes a puff of wind, and 
almost before she understands what has happened, 
she sees floating away at her feet a dazzling white 
cloud. Her view has been obstructed by a cloud- 
curtain which is now drawn aside by invisible hands, 
discovering to her enraptured vision the most won- 
derful panorama it had ever been her privilege to 
view. 

Nestling down at the foot of the mountain was 
the blue lake, the bluest sheet of water she had ever 
seen, skirted on all sides by wild and primeval for- 
ests, and surrounded by mountains whose feet were 
laved by the waters beneath. At one end of the lake 
appeared a city, perhaps of the Liliputians, and here 
and there, shining white out of the forests, were tiny 
villages and towns. To the south the mountains 
grew wilder and loftier, till in the distance lay the 
full range of the snow-peaked, cloud-draped Alps. 
There it was — eternal snows, glaciers, everlasting 


RIGI CULM 


323 


secrets, all, majestic, silent, Godward drawing! 
There were the Wetterhorn, the Eiger, the Jung- 
frau, and, far off in the distance, the misty summit 
of Mt. Blanc. Describing it to a friend in a letter 
that night, she said, 

“Such a far-reaching, all-including view I may 
never hope to behold again, till I stand upon some 
lofty summit of Eternity and view the things that 
God hath prepared for those who love Him.” 

But as she stood gazing at the work of the divine 
Artist in wonder and awe, the invisible hand drew 
again the cloud-curtain and shut off the view, leav- 
ing her straining her eyes in the vain endeavor to 
pierce again the gleaming folds that she might gain 
another glimpse of the wondrous picture. But all 
that remained was the pure air, free from contami- 
nation, above the clouds. 

Her thoughts came back to her and she remem- 
bered with pity the man whom she was soon to meet. 
How noble he was ! How marvelously he had 
withstood the test of riches, from whose fires he had 
come forth purged! How exaltedly he seemed to 
love her ! Then, what a lovely sister ! She was in 
a turmoil — and there he stood before her, tall, noble, 
impressive. She was confused, her feelings were 
uncertain and vague, she did not know what to do. 
And yet she thought the three months had been in 
his favor. 

“I am guilty,” he said. “I have been watching 
you for ten minutes and it almost seemed to me 
that I was invading the sanctity of your inner soul, 
as you stood gazing off at that picture. What 


324 


POLLY 


thoughts were surging through your mind, awak- 
ened by the suggestions of the omnipotent Artist! 
As I watched, you seemed to become a part of the 
picture; you were the ‘life’ in the fore-, against 
the distant back-ground of the Alps. I almost per- 
suaded myself that light emanated from your form. 
Again I was made to think of your little friend 
Polly, who called you ‘Angel,’ and I said to myself, 
‘Who are you that you should seek the heart and 
hand of an angel?’ And I was almost tempted to 
slink away and hide myself. But again I saw that 
you were beautifully human, and I remembered my 
promise, and there was the hope of heaven on earth 
for me, and — here I am to the minute. And, after 
all these weeks of wandering and waiting, it seems 
now that no time at all has elapsed.” 

Strange, how superstitions control the strongest 
— all unconscious ! At the mention of Polly’s 
name came the old picture, and with it an absolute, 
unflinching determination. At the mental glimpse 
of the unknown and unseen man, she knew instantly 
that the living image before her could not hold her, 
and instinctively she was true to the vision, though 
it might mean a lonely, desolate life. She was true 
to the piercing flash of light that illuminated the 
path of her feet for that one instant — as the lost 
traveler moves confidently onward as the flash of 
lightning discovers to him his way. Was she in 
love with a vision? an image? a man she had never 
seen? 

“Mr. Hamline, there is no man I have ever seen 
or known, whom I honor and respect as I do you. 


RIGI CULM 


325 


But somehow, there has been a mistake, a dreadful 
mistake. We ought not to have met when we did, 
or we ought religiously to have observed both letter 
and spirit of Dorothy’s command. She must have 
been writing from the fulness of her intuitions.” 

“Then, is there no hope for me at all ?” 

“None that I now can offer conscientiously. 
And yet, I will not say ‘never,’ which is the reply 
now prompted by my heart.” 

“May I ask what has happened since we last 
met ? I felt then that there was hope ; I thought I 
read it in your eyes, I thought I caught it in the 
warm cadences of your voice. I have been feasting 
on hope for three months, and hope has lightened 
the leaden step of the weary hours. What has hap- 
pened ? Have you seen another ? Have I an 
enemy ?” 

“Never purposely did I fan the flame of hope. 
If you read signs that gave birth to it, alas! they 
were signs that respect, esteem, honor, brought to 
view, intensified, no doubt, by admiration for the 
worthy brother of my dearest, truest friend. There 
is no rival, except a mental picture that you yourself 
twice have called up — once that day on the deck of 
the ship and again just now as you began to speak. 
You may call it a vision, a dream, a foolish fancy, 
a girlish whim — the product of a disordered imagi- 
nation, or what you will ; but whatever it is it pre- 
vents my giving any sign of hope. I know that this 
seems almost brutally frank, but you asked it and 
you had a right to know the whole truth, and, after 
all, frankness is best. It prevents the imagination 


326 


POLLY 


from picturing impossibilities that worry and 
wound and trouble. The truth is seldom so harsh 
and harmful as the pictures painted by the artist 
within and hung on the walls of our ‘chambers of 
imagery/ ” 

“Indeed, Miss Harman, you have been tender and 
kind. I would have you true to yourself and your 
visions though it mean death to me. I have been 
nearer heaven the last three months than ever I will 
be again, so long as I inhabit this flesh. But, some- 
how, I have had a premonition for the past few days 
that all would not be well, and I have been in tor- 
ment — a foretaste of the days to follow. I shall 
always thank God, however, for the unmerited priv- 
ilege He has granted me, and I shall live forever on 
the memory of those hallowed days on ship — they 
will cast their radiance over all the dark days of the 
future. Then I shall not kill hope all at once. I 
will let it die by degrees. And, now, good-by! 
God bless you!” And, taking her hand reverently 
in his, he raised it to his lips, while the moisture 
dimmed his eyes, and turning quickly, he walked 
toward the platform, where the curious little moun- 
tain-climbing train stood panting after its toilsome 
struggle up the steeps. The lady had no oppor- 
tunity to speak. The farewell pressure of his lips, 
she knew, was not a liberty but, rather, in the na- 
ture of the sacrament to a dying man. And as she 
watched, the train moved, and slowly passed out of 
sight. 

Would the reaction come? Would she weep that 
night in the vain cry, “It might have been?” Nay ! 


RIGI CULM 


327 


The vision was true and she was true to the vision. 
With all-absorbing pity for the lonely man, she 
turned with resolute step to seek her father, though 
she was nervous and weak from the suppressed ex- 
citement that now made its presence felt. 

As she came into the good man’s presence she 
paused, and each looked into the other’s eyes, before 
she threw herself exhausted into his arms. 

“Art ’thou still mine, or dost thou belong to 
another ?” 

“Thine!” the whispered response. 

As she nestled down into those arms that had 
been about her in love and protection since she drew 
her first infant breath, he imprinted a kiss on the 
fair white brow, “so like her mother’s,” and said, 

“It was all right, little girl. I wanted you to be 
true to your heart. Your happiness is above my 
own, and I could not get rid of the memory of the 
blessed days when I courted your mother, and of the 
day when I heard her whispered ‘yes.’ I began to 
think as I looked out of the window at you that the 
battle was going against me.” 

“Not yet, papa! Not yet!” 

The rest of the pilgrimage on the other shore was 
more like what they had planned it should be. 
They were alone together and more like lovers than 
ever. There was no third party present to call 
them away from each other. There was no im- 
pending cloud that threatened them each moment 
with disaster. A burden was lifted from the mind 
of each of them and they were lighter hearted and 
happier than they had been through all the weeks of 


328 


POLLY 


travel. And yet both father and daughter entered 
into this freedom, this good-comradeship, with a 
feeling akin to a premonition that something would 
soon arise that would make it a thing of the past 
forever. They were not gloomy or morose on this 
account, but accepted the blessings of the present 
with thankful hearts and with no desire to look into 
the mysteries of the future till the book of the future 
should be opened unto them. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


AT IyAST 

Judson was able to dismiss from his mind any- 
thought of a possible meeting with Marie Harman 
on his trip abroad. He knew absolutely nothing of 
her itinerary or plans, though he might have learned 
them to their minutest detail had he thought, or had 
he been willing, to consult Mrs. Stryker, whom he 
now counted among his most intimate friends and 
who, once in a while, could not help letting slip some 
word concerning her beloved niece. Not only had 
he dismissed the thought of meeting her, but he had 
more than half persuaded himself that he did not 
desire it, because of what he felt in regard to the 
probable outcome of a voyage with Dorothy Ham- 
line’s handsome brother, who evidently went abroad 
with the sole purpose of winning her. He satisfied 
himself that she had met her Waterloo. The whole 
affair seemed perfectly absurd to him now. Sup- 
pose he had run across the lady, what would he have 
done and what could he have said? The salt air 
brought him fresh vigor and new life, and he con- 
cluded that Providence had overruled his fleeting 
vagaries in order to draw him away from himself, 
and he was going to make the most of it. Travel- 
ing alone is selfish and yet devoid of the special joys 
of genial companionship, but then he had been trav- 
eling alone all his life ! 


330 


POLLY 


So he landed, and without plan or purpose he 
went where it seemed good for him to go and re- 
mained as long as it seemed good for him to remain. 
Sometimes he tramped for days without putting his 
foot aboard a train. Once, when the fancy 
prompted it, he purchased a wheel and for three 
weeks journeyed over roads the equal of which he 
had never seen before. Sometimes his soul craved 
cities and the haunts of man, and in the heart of the 
great cities he dwelt; sometimes he longed for the 
solitudes, and far from the habitations of man he 
found the freedom his nature demanded ; sometimes 
it was the mountains he wished, Nature’s cathedrals 
to the God of Nature, and among the mountains he 
ranged ; sometimes it was the cathedrals erected by 
man that drew him, and amid the light of the glory 
sifted through colored glass he thought of heaven 
and worshiped God! He was not always alone; 
coming up with congenial spirits, he would travel 
days at a time in their company. 

At length he felt weary, and home and work be- 
gan to draw him. Then it was that he took ship 
for America, just seventeen weeks from the day he 
set sail. The first day out, being very tired, he 
placed his chair in a little niche between a great ven- 
tilating funnel and a projecting skylight. There, 
with a book in his hands, he fell into a doze, — not a 
deep sleep, — that dreamy, happy state, when things 
real and things of vision become beautifully blended, 
till one can not tell for one’s life which is real and 
which is vision. He was partly conscious of voices 
and of moving chairs in his proximity, and for a 


AT LAST 


331 


moment he thought he was in the editorial rooms of 
The Panorama. Then he heard a woman’s voice, 
soft and low and musical, which caused the return 
of his old fairy vision, the one he had seen from his 
childhood, and a sweet peace settled upon him — that 
vision always brought peace, sleeping or waking — 
from which he was presently called by a man’s voice, 
strangely familiar, “I think I ’ll go below, dear. I 
will feel better. No, I thank you, I do not need any 
assistance, but you may look in on me before dinner. 
No, I am not sick, but you know what this long 
swell always does for me.” Then there was more 
scraping of chairs and moving of feet close to him — 
and he was off again in a heavy dreamless sleep, 
from which he was awakened by the slipping of his 
book from his lap to the deck, and by the rays of the 
sun which had found an avenue directly to his eyes 
through a vent in the awning. Recovering his book 
and straightening his chair to an upright position, 
he shifted it around the funnel, in order to escape 
the shaft of light,- and then settled down to read in 
earnest. But he could not read. His mind, which 
had been free, now reverted to the object of this 
whimsical and sudden trip abroad. He was think- 
ing intently of Marie Harman, of all that had been 
said of her, of all that he had pictured her, of his 
own folly in not meeting her, of his great yearning 
for her, when he felt impelled to look up, and there, 
not three feet away, was the object of his thoughts 
and dreams, his fairy, grown up as he knew she 
had — no ! — yes ! it was Polly’s favorite, Marie Har- 
man. He had never seen her, but there could be no 


332 


POLLY 


doubt, there was but one in all the world like that ! 
His own picture had been correct in the main, but 
far too crude; the substance was superior to the 
dream, as the living sentient being is superior to the 
cold and colorless marble born from the sculptor’s 
chisel. Here was life and health and glory that his 
artist within had failed to produce. 

Marie Harman had not seen the young man doz- 
ing on the other side of the funnel when the deck 
steward had placed chairs for herself and her father, 
and now that she was left alone she became the more 
absorbed in the book she was reading and from 
which she was not roused till the noise of Judson’s 
chair caused her to look up for a moment. But 
when her eyes went back to the printed page she felt 
herself impelled instantly to look up again, an im- 
pulse which she resisted as long as it was possible, 
and then she yielded, and looked straight into the 
face of that image, which she knew so well, which 
had come to mean so much to her since her final 
decision on the summit of the Rigi, which had been 
the cause of dashed hopes for Hamline, which Polly, 
by the whimsical promise she had exacted, had been 
able to conjure up. 

There they sat, solemnly looking into each other’s 
eyes and down into each other’s soul, and then grad- 
ually, but surely, a smile — a sweet, heavenly smile — 
came out from within up on the face of each, as 
they mutually began to fathom the situation, and as 
each more perfectly interpreted what he saw in the 
depths of the other. 

“Miss Harman !” 


AT LAST 


333 


“Mr. Judson!” Spoken simultaneously. 

“I would have known you in the middle of the 
Sahara desert,” said Miss Harman. 

“I think I have known you about a thousand 
years,” said Judson. 

And then without any self-consciousness what- 
ever, as if they had known each other a lifetime, 
they conversed. This will not seem strange when 
it is remembered that no one could have been better 
acquainted with an intimate than each of these was 
with the other. The only thing that had been omit- 
ted to make the acquaintance perfect was a formal 
presentation and, in the circumstances, that was the 
least essential. 

“When I was a little boy I came across a fairy- 
story. As a rule, I did not like that kind of tale. I 
wanted something real, something I could believe. 
Hence, I was accustomed to laugh at anything 
purely imaginative and to call it a girl’s story. But 
this one was different. It represented a little boy, 
about my own age, roaming through the woods and 
finally coming to a hollow tree. With a boy’s love 
of adventure he poked his head into the opening 
and, instead of discovering a bear or something like 
that as I had anticipated, he saw three little girl 
fairies asleep on a tiny bed. One of the fairies was 
so sweet and lovely that, before he thought, the little 
fellow raised her to his lips and kissed her, and 
straightway, because of the kiss, she was trans- 
formed into a human child and grew as he grew, 
and 'they were happy ever after.’ The story had a 
remarkable effect upon me. I think that it was the 


334 


POLLY 


means of transforming my whole future. Little as 
I was, I thought I could feel the thrill of that boy’s 
love, and I became firmly impressed with the 
thought that there was a little fairy for me some- 
where. After I grew up and became a man the in- 
fluence of that feeling was still upon me and, though 
I laughed at it, I could never shake it off, and it has 
been a part of my life waking and sleeping. I mean 
that I have never been able to get away from the 
feeling that a lady was living somewhere whom God 
intended for me, that she was just what she ought 
to be in face and character, that at the right time we 
would meet and all would be well. It has been this 
feeling that has made me careless in regard to so- 
ciety in general, and it has been a mighty influence 
to keep me straight, for if this lady was kept for me 
I must keep myself for her. 

“When Polly began to tell me of ‘her Miss Marie’ 
I was startled to note how perfectly her descriptions 
coincided with the visions of my fairy as she had 
grown to be in my mind. Parsons and Stryker, in 
their descriptions of the wonderful Miss Harman, 
produced the same effect in me. I was happy be- 
cause my dream seemed more real, but I lacked 
faith, I was afraid to meet you lest I should dis- 
cover that it was all a mistake. I think I can see 
what Polly’s efforts accomplished in me — a substitu- 
tion of their picture for my own, and it has been you 
of whom I have been dreaming and thinking these 
years. 

“Hence, when you sailed for Europe, a sense of 
the truth burst on my consciousness and I became 


AT LAST 


335 


insane with the desire to see you in solid flesh ; thus 
actuated, after roaming a little in my own country, 
I took ship with no other purpose but to follow 
you, — you whom I might have met under most 
pleasant auspices, but would not because of unbe- 
lief, — though I had no shadow of a clue as to your 
whereabouts. The tonic atmosphere of the sea 
brought me to my senses before we reached the 
other shore and my wild plan was abandoned. But 
feeling for the first time in my life the need of rest 
and change I entered upon my travels with those 
ends in view. Resolutely I kept thrusting your im- 
age away from me.” 

“And are you so wofully disappointed as you 
feared you would be? Does the real come so far 
short of the ideal, the substance of the dream?” — 
but a true woman’s thought and question. 

“The dream to the substance was as the candle to 
the sun !” 

“Then blessings on my Polly!” 

“And why, especially?” 

“Because she saved me. When I sailed, the dear 
little miss made me promise to think of her fre- 
quently, and then, with great timidity and shame- 
facedness, to think also of Ter Mr. Judson’ every 
time I thought of her. It struck me as being a 
whimsical request and I could not fathom the mo- 
tive, but she was terribly in earnest, and I was eager 
to please the little dear and bring the smiles to her 
face, so I could not find it in my heart to deny her 
anything so simple and easy ; for I often associated 
in my thoughts Polly and Mr. Judson, as she was 


336 


POLLY 


incessantly speaking of you, and because — because — 
I was accustomed to think of you even apart from 
Polly. Polly and Mr. Parsons, later Mr. Stryker 
and Aunt Hettie, and finally even papa himself, 
had pictured you so gloriously that I loved to think 
of you and spent much of my dreaming time thus. 
It was a delight to come home after some society 
function, after listening to the inanities to which 
women are often compelled to listen from the lips 
of men, to sit down on the side of my bed and think 
of you as I saw you and try to make myself believe 
that there was one such man in the wide world. But 
in spite of it all I was afraid, yes clearly afraid, to 
meet you, lest I should be disappointed, and — ” 

“And were you, dear?” — mischievously. 

“Nay, thou art more than I dared to paint thee, 
brighter than my most luminous dreams. But about 
Polly’s promise — there was a noble man who sailed 
with us, the brother of my dearest girl friend.” 

“Yes, your friend Miss Hamline told me that he 
had sailed on the same steamer, and that he had sac- 
rificed long-cherished plans for that inestimable 
privilege.” 

“When and where did you ever meet Dorothy 
Hamline, I should like to know?” 

“I met her out in Kentucky just before I decided 
to leave the country ; in fact, it was the news she 
imparted in reference to her brother and her dearest 
girl friend that brought me to the decision. She 
plunged me so suddenly into a gulf of grief and 
despair that I do not believe I said another word to 
her, and I have often wondered what she co^ld, ha ye- 


AT LAST 


337 


thought of me. It was not complimentary but it 
was not intentional. She herself had banished the 
best part of me, and the worst was all that was left 
in her presence and he made but a poor showing, I 
know.” 

“It had not been my purpose to be explicit and 
reveal names, for I did not know you were in pos- 
session of the secret. Well, in a manly way Arthur 
Hamline courted me, and I began to feel that it 
might not be difficult for many a girl to learn to 
love a man like that, especially at such a time and 
in such favorable circumstances, for he is all that is 
good and true, and you know how I love Dorothy. 
But when he came to the point, and while my heart 
was fluttering with sympathy and nervousness, per- 
haps, he chanced to mention our Polly, whom he 
had seen and admired the day we sailed. Instantly, 
along with Polly, came my promise and a vision of 
you, and I put him off three months. At the end of 
that time, full of pity, which I taught myself was 
akin to love, I waited tremblingly, no nearer an an- 
swer, afraid of myself. Yes, and amid such glories 
of nature that everything that was good within me 
was stirred and my heart had been rapturously 
drawn to God. He came, again quoting Polly, and 
once more the name called you up so majestically 
that all doubt vanished. In an instant I knew that 
he could not hold me. I know now that Polly and 
other dear friends of yours made you so real to me 
that I never really saw another man, because my 
true powers of vision were filled with you and were 


22 


338 


POLLY 


satisfied with you. And that ’s why I say, ‘Bless- 
ings on my Polly !’ ” 

“Strange! ’T was a fancy in my mind, and 
Polly put it there, of a tall, dark handsome man by 
your side that was the first cause of my distraction, 
the culmination of which your friend Dorothy 
Hamline so skilfully effected. I say with you, 
‘Blessings on our Polly!’ I know now that I have 
loved the ideal in my mind that corresponds with 
you, but always thinking that it was a fancy, and 
often laughing at myself and calling myself hard 
names. Yes, I loved you before I saw you. It is a 
case of love before first sight. Blessings indeed 
upon Polly!” 

The great ship forged ahead with sea-gulls in her 
wake, rising and falling gently on the long swells 
so well fitted to her size. The day was cloudlessly 
perfect. The breeze was just fresh enough to coun- 
teract the effects of the sun’s rays and it created a 
gentle murmur among the cordage. The ship was 
full of life, men were walking, talking, playing 
games, all about these two, but they were not a part 
of any of it. No one seemed to see them, they saw 
and heard no one. Sitting silent, each was busy 
with his own thoughts, while looking down into the 
eyes of the other he read things unutterable. Eight 
bells sounded. The spell was broken ! The veil that 
shuts from view the things of the soul was self-con- 
sciously drawn. One other look, quick and startled, 
was given down into the now mysterious depths. 
Then suddenly, as if the bells had been the recog- 
nized signal, each burst forth into a merry, hearty 


AT LAST 


339 


laugh. For the first time they were “self-con- 
scious,” confused; they had just arrived at a reali- 
zation of the situation — two strangers, without the 
semblance of the formality of an introduction, talk- 
ing as familiarly as if they had been intimates from 
infancy; looking at each other for the first time, 
without the suggestion of a formal declaration, each 
unconsciously yet gloriously accepting the love of 
the other as a matter of course, as faithful lovers 
meeting after a duration of separation. 

“I have loved thee so truly and so long that the 
little conventionality of a formal declaration had 
entirely escaped me for the moment. I pray thee 
pardon me! Shall we stop where we are, begin all 
over again, and do it in accord with the dictates of 
the proprieties ?” 

“I think those little formalities have long been 
observed in the loftier regions of pure mind. But 
for the sake of the little play it will give us, and be- 
cause we have missed some of the joys of lovers in 
a protracted and sometimes uncertain courtship, let 
us play a game that I used to play and one in which 
your powers I believe will qualify you to enter — the 
game of ‘pretend.’ Suppose you arrange to run 
across papa soon, let him present you to me accord- 
ing to the prescribed conventionalities. Indeed, I 
will ask it of him. To-night, after I have retired to 
my room, you have it ‘out with him’ and request 
the privilege of winning me. Then, bright and 
early to-morrow morning you begin to court me! 
I can scarcely wait, for I know it will be poetical and 
beautiful in the extreme !” 


340 


POLLY 


And so it was arranged, and so it was carried out. 
One of the sweetest little plays ever imagined was 
there enacted. And the father never suspected that 
it was a play till it was all over, when they confessed 
and begged forgiveness. 

And it came to pass that Marie Harman met her 
Waterloo on this ocean trip after all, but not in ac- 
cord with the spirit of Maizie Emerson’s prophecy, 
but rather in accord with the dreams and hopes and 
plans of one Miranda Jean. 

Oh, those happy days on the ocean! They lived 
a lifetime of bliss in them. Every minute was 
freighted with joy unspeakable. Zephyrs were 
never more tender and soft; ocean was never more 
glorious; ship was never more majestic; stars were 
never more brilliant ; moon was never more serene ; 
sun never shone more brightly; love was never 
sweeter, in all the history of the world ! 

“Yes, blessings on our Polly!” 










































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DEC 21 1901) 
















